A Game of Optics
by nonadhesiveness
Summary: Post-S4. 'Will President Dalton endorse such behaviour' Every picture tells a story. But what happens when that story is a lie? Images surface of Henry with another woman, but will Elizabeth believe that he hasn't had an affair? And will she be able to prove his innocence when everyone else has already condemned him? There is no truth in politics; it's all just a game of optics.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to everyone who read my story ' **When the Light Goes Out** '. I love that story, so I was ecstatic to hear that so many of you liked it. If you haven't read it yet, all 19 chapters are up, so maybe check it out…

This story is a little different in tone. I'd love to hear what you think.

 **Summary** : Post-S4. 'Will President Dalton endorse such behaviour?' Every picture tells a story. But what happens when that story is a lie? Photographs surface of Henry with another woman, but will Elizabeth believe him when he says he hasn't had an affair? And will she be able to prove his innocence when everyone else has already condemned him? There is no truth in politics; it's all just a game of optics.

* * *

 **A Game of Optics**

 _"_ _Somebody must have made a false accusation against Josef K., for he was arrested one morning without having done anything wrong."—The Trial, Franz Kafka._

 **Chapter One**

 **Elizabeth**

Silence at last. Elizabeth sank down into her chair, kicked her shoes off beneath her desk, and pulled the plate towards her. With a short sigh, she dug her fork into the linguine and swizzled it around. The pasta was dripping with butter and the scent of garlic overwhelmed everything else. She took a bite and closed her eyes. It was so good it was sinful.

There was a knock at the door and Blake popped through the gap. Elizabeth groaned. What now? "This had better be good." She shot Blake a look.

Blake hesitated. "Your husband's on the line, ma'am."

"Fine. I'll let you off." She downed the fork and picked up the phone as Blake made his retreat. She spoke into the mouthpiece. "I have to warn you: you've just come between me and a plate of pasta."

"Sounds dangerous," Henry said, and the smile shone through his voice. "Do you want me to call you back? Give you and the pasta some time alone?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Talking about time alone…the kids are out tonight, so we've got the house to ourselves."

"Oh really?" Elizabeth switched the phone to the opposite ear, a smile playing on her lips as she twisted the cord around her finger. "Did you have any plans?"

"A few…but it sounds like I've got competition."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll save room for dessert."

"You'd better," Henry said. His tone softened. "I've missed you."

"I know. Things have been kinda crazy lately." When was the last time they had spent more than ten minutes together that didn't involve lying comatose on their bed?

"What time do you think you'll be back?"

She let out a long sigh and stared at the clock as if it could predict the answer. "It depends how this afternoon goes." She picked up the fork from the edge of the plate and raked it through the pasta. Her stomach grumbled in protest. "I've got that meeting with the VP. The adoption bill. I'm dreading it." She dropped the fork again. Just the thought of a whole afternoon spent with Teresa Hurst was enough to dampen even her appetite. "Not the bill; her. Every time she looks at me, I swear she's imaging the lines she'd cut if she ever had the chance to flay me."

Henry laughed. At least someone could see the funny side. "She's just jealous because your approval ratings are higher than hers."

"Yeah, but it doesn't help that Russell promised that Conrad would endorse her." Or that Russell had neglected to tell Conrad that, or that Conrad was planing to endorse Elizabeth when she announced her intentions to run. "Now she's treating me like I'm the other woman."

"Who she wants to flay?"

"Exactly." And even Elizabeth had to smile at how ridiculous she sounded. She spun the chair round to face the small walnut cabinet behind her desk. "I'll let you know when I'm done, okay?" Her gaze fell on the photograph of herself and Henry, sat side by side on a picnic blanket, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss, whilst the sea breeze swept through their hair. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Elizabeth blew a quick kiss into the phone and then hung up. Her heart sank a little the moment that the phone found the cradle; if only she could stay on the line to him forever, so the afternoon would never come; if only the day was already over, so that she could be home alone with him, snuggled in his arms. She let out a terse puff of breath. If only, if only…But first she had pasta, and then the meeting with Teresa Hurst.

* * *

"Thank you for coming by, Elizabeth," Teresa said, and she stood up from behind her desk; Elizabeth's cue to leave—at last.

The office was airless and heavy with rose petal perfume. It reminded Elizabeth of those endless afternoons she had spent at the care home with her aunt, the heating on high whilst the sun sweated through the windows, and vase after vase of garish flowers lining every shelf and sill to mask the stench of disinfectant, urine and death.

Teresa continued to speak whilst Elizabeth tucked the loose leaves of paper into the files and wedged the folders into the bag at her feet. "You know how much this bill means to me. The thought that we'll be able to help these vulnerable children, to give them proper families, rather than leaving them in these…these _institutions_ …"

Yeah. So long as they could stop the corruption and coercion and kidnapping that came hand in hand with international adoption. But Elizabeth kept her mouth shut. When she looked up, she caught sight of the photographs lined up along the bookshelf at the side of the room. Teresa's gaze must have followed her own, for she walked over to the frames and picked one up and stared down at it with a fond smile, then she passed it to Elizabeth. "My nephew, Thomas."

The boy in the picture must have been about ten years old, with sandy brown hair, thick-rimmed glasses and a gappy smile. He was sat on a park bench, in the shade of an oak tree, with an ice cream cone in hand—chocolate—and his own camera hanging from the strap around his neck.

"Handsome boy," Elizabeth said, and she handed the frame back.

"I never got the chance to adopt, but fortunately my sister lived nearby, so I was able to see Thomas growing up." Teresa's smile turned wistful. "I'm grateful for that." She let out a long breath. "Though of course he's all grown-up now and moved away."

"Where does he live?" Elizabeth stood up and took a step towards the door. The clock on the wall was inching its way round to 5pm. With any luck, she could debrief her staff and be out of the office by six, then in Henry's arms by half past.

"Silicon Valley," Teresa said. "He's always had a knack for technology, so I guess it was inevitable. We still keep in touch though; he visits whenever he can drag himself away from work." She laid her hand against the door handle. The pastel pink of her nails glinted in the artificial light.

"My brother recently moved back to the area," Elizabeth said, and her lips curled into a smile that spread warmth through her chest. "I'm finally getting to spend time with my niece, so I know how precious they are."

"It's not the same though, is it?" Teresa's expression remained as pleasant as before, but its depth had gone. Like the theatre masks of Ancient Greece, there was something unsettling about it. "I mean, you have children of your own." She pulled open the door, and Elizabeth just looked at her, tongue floundering. How did that conversation pivot so quickly? "I'd like the proposals drawn up by tomorrow morning."

Elizabeth stalled in the doorway. "Wait. What?"

"I'm having a brunch with a few members of Congress, and I'm hoping to secure their support," Teresa said, "so I need the proposals before then."

"But my staff and I would need to stay up the whole night, and even then the proposals would only be preliminary."

"That's fine. Unless you have an issue with working late?" Teresa raised her eyebrows just a fraction. "This bill is to protect vulnerable children, after all." Her smile turned as sweet as acid drops. "If you can send it over by seven, I'd be most grateful." Her gaze flitted to the corridor, as if her look alone could usher Elizabeth out. And, for some reason—perhaps the snipe at Elizabeth's motherhood, or just the audacity of the request—it worked.

* * *

As soon as the car door closed, Elizabeth let out a groan. God, that woman was manipulative. But she did it in such a way that to refuse her would be like admitting you got a thrill from punching kittens. Elizabeth pulled out her phone and dialled Henry's number.

"Hey, babe," Henry said. And his voice was full of hope. "You leaving already?"

Elizabeth let out a sharp breath, and her eyes shut. If only.

"Oh no—" the cheer fled "—don't tell me you're standing me up."

"The VP wants me to put together a proposal for the bill before tomorrow morning," Elizabeth said. "So it's going to be a long night at the State Department."

"But, babe, that's insane." And it was insane. Anything keeping her away from her plans with Henry was insane. "Couldn't you have said no?"

"She's already guilt-tripping me, and I don't want her to become even more hostile." Elizabeth picked pieces of lint from her trousers and flicked them onto the floor. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Henry snorted. "Unless something else comes up." But a moment later, he added, "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I'm just frustrated. I was looking forward…" but he trailed off, as if such thoughts no longer mattered. "I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"You too," Elizabeth said, but the line had already cut out. She stared down at the screen. It was probably just patchy signal, but she wouldn't have blamed Henry if he had hung up.

* * *

The staff were gathered around the table in the meeting room, staring up at the television mounted on the wall. A half-eaten tray of sandwiches and several bowls of popcorn littered the table, along with an assortment of coffee mugs. Elizabeth pulled out her glasses from her bag and shoved them on before she barged the door open. The staff turned to her briefly— a flurry of nods and " _Evening, ma'am_ "—before looking back up at the screen.

President Salnikov was sat in a midnight blue armchair, knees wide as if to emphasise his machismo (or something else). He gesticulated as he spoke to the two blonde women—presumably the presenters, or perhaps talking mannequins—who perched behind the desk. In the background, the screen showed a picture of Elizabeth, and not a favourable one at that. Why did they always have to pick the photos where she looked chinny, or was scowling, or both?

"I'm not sure what he's saying," Elizabeth said as she pointed up at the screen, "but even I understand enough Russian to know this isn't good." Salnikov had now turned to her picture and thrust one finger at the image as he let loose on his tirade.

Matt spun towards her in his chair. He had removed his jacket, and his tie hung loose around his collar. "He's calling you a power-grabbing, imperialistic, heartless—"

Elizabeth held one hand up. "Skip the adjectives and get to the point."

Jay had been twiddling a pen, but he tossed it down onto the desk and looked up at her. "They're not happy about us closing down the consulate in Seattle." He shrugged. "Apparently we unjustly removed innocent diplomats and are negatively impacting the lives of Russian citizens visiting or living in the US."

"Innocent diplomats?" Elizabeth gestured at the screen, her flourish as wild as Salnikov's. "They were running a spy ring for God's sake."

"Not according to Salnikov," Matt said. "And he's taken up his own Late Late Show dedicated to slagging you off."

"Great." Elizabeth sighed. Just what they needed: more drama with the Russians. She tossed her bag down onto the table and grabbed herself a handful of popcorn. She leant back against the wall and tossed the pieces into her mouth one at a time. It was stale, and bits lodged in her teeth.

Jay hit the mute button on the remote, leaving Salnikov to mime his outrage. "How did the meeting go with Vice President Hurst?"

Elizabeth gave a bitter laugh. "You're gonna love this." Her staff looked up at her with half-expectant, half-wary expressions; like children hoping to go to Disneyland, but suspecting they would be taken to the doctor for shots instead. "She wants the proposals for the bill by seven tomorrow morning."

"What?" Kat pounded the desk and then leant back in her chair. Her hands formed a net behind her head. Probably a good thing too, because she looked about ready to chuck another table.

"Oh yeah." Elizabeth nodded with a wry smile. "She's got a brunch with members of Congress and she wants to present the plans in order to start drumming up support."

"So, let me get this straight," Matt said, and he pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose, his lips twisted with a kind of amused disbelief, "whilst she finalises her pastries and cocktails, we have to stay up all night putting the proposal in place?"

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows. "I said you'd love it."

"But it's not possible," Jay said. He picked up the pen from the desk and tapped it against his notepad, a beat to emphasise each point. "I mean, international adoption is a minefield for child trafficking, kidnapping, coercion…We need to put safeguards in place to ensure that only children with genuine need are included in the scheme, and we need the governments of the countries involved to agree to all these measures." He shook his head to himself. "She should have waited until we had something in place before arranging any meetings."

Elizabeth poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher and took a swig, her tongue working to dislodge the popcorn from her teeth. "I know, but it's happening, Jay, whether we like it or not, so let's quit complaining and start coming up with a framework."

She dragged out a chair and slumped into it. Her whole body ached. She rolled the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows and then reached across the desk to the tray of sandwiches. Wilted lettuce and dry ham. So much for dessert with Henry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Elizabeth**

"Ma'am?"

Elizabeth's eyes jolted open at Blake's voice, and her heart jumped. "I'm awake. I'm awake." She propped herself up on the couch, squinting in the glare of the office lights. Files and loose paperwork were strewn over the coffee table, interrupted only by the occasional coffee mug. In the doorway, next to where Blake hovered, stood Will, a paper bag in hand.

"Good thing I stopped by the cafeteria," Will said, and he chucked the bag at her. She caught it, and peered at it with a frown. "Looks like someone forgot we're meant to be having lunch today."

Elizabeth's head swam. "Wait. That's today?" Though what day 'today' was eluded her.

"I would be offended," Will said, and he pushed her feet aside to make space for himself on the end of the couch, "but you look like crap, so I'll give you a free pass."

"How generous of you." Elizabeth set the bag down between them and peered at the mugs of coffee. Which one of them was freshest? She picked one up and took a swig. Cold, with a slight tang of rancid milk. She grimaced. Definitely not that one. "I've been up all night, so please keep the sniping to a minimum."

"I don't snipe; we bicker." Will flashed her an easy smile, the one that incited a kind of inherent annoyance reserved only for her brother.

"Well can we please not do that either." Elizabeth took a deep breath and then sighed it out, but the tension clung to her body. "I just want to have a relaxing afternoon and get home on time this evening. For once." But before she could even settle into the thought, there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called out, and her voice croaked. She lifted her hand to her throat, as if she could massage away the lack of sleep.

Daisy entered. She closed the door behind her and then strode across the carpet with her gaze lowered, an envelope clutched in both hands. She was wearing her anxious face. Never a good sign. Her fingertips fluttered against the envelope, agitated butterflies.

"What is it, Daisy?" Elizabeth said, and when Daisy failed to reply, she extended her hand for the envelope, her fingers snatching at the air.

Daisy's own fingers stilled. Her gaze met Elizabeth's, eyes wide. "I…um…" Her gaze fell back to the floor, and she thrust the envelope towards Elizabeth. "I think it's best that you see for yourself."

Elizabeth's pulse quickened. See what? She lifted the flap of the envelope and slid out the contents. Then she dropped the envelope to the couch and studied the sheets of glossy paper. Her stomach lurched, and the swig of coffee surged back up her throat. Inside were three photographs, black and white and grainy, yet as stark as an arrow to the heart. Henry at a bar, cosied up to a magnetic blonde; Henry in a hotel corridor, his arm around said blonde; Henry stumbling into a hotel room, the blonde close behind. The time stamp was from the previous evening. _The kids are out tonight, so we've got the house to ourselves_.

"I didn't want to say anything," Daisy said, wringing her hands in front of her— _Lady Macbeth_ —as if just touching the images had somehow tainted her, "given what happened last time—" last time, when he had met his handler and Stevie had seen and Daisy had accused him of…of…what these photographs showed "—but you needed to know, in case they get leaked."

Elizabeth's mouth was dry. She couldn't have spoken if she wanted to, but there were no words, only the images branded across her mind. Henry. Her Henry… _I, Henry Patrick McCord, take you, Elizabeth Adams, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life._

"Lizzie?" Will leant in closer and rested a hand against her shoulder, just like he had done on that day. _Five minutes until you tie yourself down forever. You sure you don't want to run away?_ Only now, that tongue-in-cheek humour had gone. "Lizzie, what is it?"

Elizabeth passed the photographs to him, her hands shaking as she did. He stared down at them, his frown deepening, his jaw tightening by the second. He looked about ready to tear the pages apart, tear Henry apart. _Remember, first and foremost, you'll always be an Adams_.

Elizabeth gripped her forehead. She leant forward as her memories and the images whirled like waltzers in her mind. "I…I don't understand."

Will chucked the photographs down on the coffee table. The paperwork caught in the downdraft and fluttered beneath. "He's having an affair."

"He can't be." Elizabeth shook her head, but the waltzers spun faster until everything was reduced to a blur. She pinched her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. "He was at home last night."

"Well, he obviously wasn't." Will gestured to the photos. There was an anger in his voice that she hadn't heard before, not even when they had fought about their parents.

"Daisy—" Elizabeth looked up, but Daisy avoided her gaze. Eyes downcast, lips slightly parted, she looked as though she had stumbled upon the final taboo "—please will you get Blake for me?"

Daisy nodded, and as she strode away, Elizabeth stuffed the photographs back into the envelope. The images appeared across the screens of her eyes every time that she blinked; she didn't need them staring up at her to remind her that they were there. When Blake appeared a moment later, she said, "I need you to check the security log for my house last night. I want to know exactly what times people arrived and left."

If Blake thought the request strange, he didn't say so. He just gave a half-bow and disappeared again. Five tortuous minutes later, he returned. Elizabeth bit the hangnail of her thumb as she waited for his report. "There are no entries for last night, ma'am."

Elizabeth peered up at him. Her hand fell to her lap. "What do you mean?"

"According to the record, the house was empty."

But how could that be? Henry had said…Henry wouldn't have…he couldn't have…There had to be an explanation.

"Do you believe it now?" Will asked once Blake had gone. His tone had softened, and it jarred; anger she could take, but pity?

Elizabeth got up from the couch and strode over to the phone. She wedged the handset between her ear and her shoulder as she punched in the number. Two dial tones later, Stevie's voice crackled through from the other end. "Russell Jackson's office, how can I help you?"

"Hey, baby," Elizabeth said. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes as the image of Stevie as a newborn, nestled in Henry's arms, swept across her mind. "I need to speak to Russell."

"Hey, mom," Stevie said. She sounded a little off guard. "Um…Russell's busy right now—" Her voice faded, and Elizabeth imagined her daughter leaning away from the phone to peer into Russell's office.

"Just put me through."

"Um…okay…" Stevie's voice came closer to the phone now, her breath buzzing. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sweetie—" Elizabeth forced a smile; perhaps it would infuse her voice "—I just need to talk to him."

There was a pause as the call went on hold. Then Russell said, "Bess, this had better be important."

More important than he would ever know. Elizabeth let out a long breath that she didn't even realise she had been holding. "Is Henry involved in any on-going intelligence work?" The words came out as one.

The clock in the corner of her office measured his silence: _tick, tick, tick_. "No."

"Is that a 'no' no, or a 'I can't tell you' no?" Elizabeth switched the phone to the other ear, her face sweltering against the plastic. She had clutched the handset so tight that it had probably left a mark, a permanent imprint to remind her of that day, as if she would need a memento.

"It's a no," Russell said. He lowered his voice, a harsh whisper into the phone. In her mind, he cast a surreptitious glance over his office. "We can't have him involved in intelligence ops if you're planing to run." Oh, so it really was a 'no'. Elizabeth's stomach dropped and she clutched the edge of her desk for support. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing." The words escaped in a breath, and she put down the phone.

"So, do you believe the photos now?" She turned to find Will stood in front of the sofa, hands on his hips, fingers digging in.

She leant back against the desk, her hands curling over the side. The envelope watched her from the coffee table, taunting her. Her throat stuck as she swallowed. There had to be an explanation. Anything other than the obvious.

Will grabbed his jacket from the sofa and pulled it on.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth said as he strode towards the door.

"Going to confront him." Will flipped up the collar of his jacket, then grabbed hold of the door handle.

"You can't." She pushed herself off the desk and hurried after him.

He stopped and turned to her. When she was seventeen, Will had punched a boy in her class for feeling her up at a school dance. All good, until her date decked Will and left him with a busted lip and black eye. _I was trying to defend your honour._ The ghost of that boy, her protector, lurked in his expression now. "Why not?"

Because Henry wasn't just some boy at the school dance. Because Will had never won a fight in his life and Henry was an ex-marine. Because confrontations had no winners, only bruises that ached and rivalry that festered. "Because…what if it's true?"

Will's face softened. The rage eased like a hurricane to a breeze, but its currents still stirred beneath the surface. He placed one hand against Elizabeth's upper arm. "Then we'll deal with it. Whatever happens, we can deal with it." He squeezed. "You can't just hide from this, Lizzie. You need to know the truth."

 _The truth_. Claws of dread gripped the pit of her stomach and a clammy sweat crawled over her skin. _Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth._ Buddha. Henry had told her that quote when the press were casting aspersions on her over the death of the assistant vice minister of Timor-Leste. At the time it had brought her comfort, a sense that things would be right in the world. But now…What if the truth meant her whole world falling apart? Wouldn't it be better to shelter in a well-constructed lie?

* * *

 **Stevie**

Stevie sifted through the pile of letters on her desk, but stopped when she came to the large brown envelope midway down. She frowned at it. There was no address and no postage, only 'For the attention of Russell Jackson' in black lettering across the front. She glanced to the open door that looked out onto the hallway. The chatter of voices and the clatter of footsteps rose and fell like the tide as staff and visitors walked past. People had come and gone all day, but she hadn't noticed anyone stop by to deliver the envelope.

She slid her finger beneath the gummy seal and lifted the flap, then she peered inside. There was a slip of paper fastened with a white paperclip to one of the glossy sheets. She pulled it free. The slip read: Will President Dalton endorse such behaviour?

What on earth did that mean? She tugged the sheets out, their edges catching on the sides of the envelope. Her heart stopped. They were pictures. Pictures of her father. Pictures of her father with a woman who wasn't her mother. Her stomach clenched and bile burned through her throat. All around her, the sounds of the office dulled, hidden beneath the blare of her blood as it rushed through her ears. Her eyes prickled with black dots, and the images dissolved to a blur beneath.

"Stevie," Russell shouted from his office.

Stevie jumped. She shoved the photos back into the envelope and then stuffed the envelope into her bag. Her heart thudded against her chest—hooves, just like riding the horses over the dry summer earth back home. She hurried to the door, almost colliding with Russell as he strode through.

"Where—" but he stopped and scrutinised her face. "Are you okay? You've gone pale."

Stevie pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks. But whether it was her face that was clammy or her fingers, she couldn't tell. "It's nothing," she said. Though her whole world was spinning and her mind was screaming at her to get out of there, to get home.

Russell didn't look convinced, but he shook his head to himself. "You're too much like your mother." Her breath caught in her throat. Her mother. Did she already know? "Now, where are those reports I asked for?"

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth shrugged off her coat and tossed it over the bottom of the bannister, then led Will through to the kitchen. The smell of burnt garlic clung to the air. Jason and Alison were sat on the sofa in the den, the television blasting in the background whilst the images lit up the room with bursts of garish colour. They twisted around as Elizabeth chucked her keys down on the side with a clatter.

"Hey, Mom, hey, Uncle Will." Alison gave them a smile so broad and light that Elizabeth's heart ached. Even in his darkest moments, Henry had always been a loving father. Had anything ever happened to her, she felt sure that their children would be okay, so long as he was with them. That man, the man that she loved, wouldn't do this to her, wouldn't do this to their children. Surely?

"Hey, guys," Elizabeth said. There was a slight tremor to her voice, but the kids didn't acknowledge it. "Is your dad home?" She slid the bag from her shoulder, the envelope peeking from the top, and dumped it by her feet.

Alison glanced down at her phone. "He should be back any minute." Her gaze turned to Will, her dark eyes—Henry's eyes—shining. "Are you staying for dinner? We were going to order pizza."

"We'll see," Will said. He pulled his lips into a smile, but it was grim.

Alison returned to the television, and when Jason laughed at something on the screen, she gave him a shove. God, they were so innocent. They had no idea what was about to unfold. Elizabeth found the edge of the counter and steadied herself against it. Will took a step closer to her from where he hovered near the refrigerator, but stopped as the front door clunked.

"Babe?" Henry called. His voice echoed down the hall and expanded into the space between Elizabeth and Will. Her skin bristled, whilst Will's jaw clenched, his whole expression hardening.

Her gaze darted to the den, as the kids laughed once more—together this time, a kind of melody. "Please don't make a scene," she said to Will. "Not in front of them."

"They're going to find out sooner or later."

Of course they would, but—"Not like this."

"Hey, babe. You made it home." Elizabeth spun back to the door as Henry came into the kitchen, one hand loosening his tie. He gave Elizabeth a warm smile and nodded to Will. "Hey, Will." But as he stepped towards Elizabeth, she shrank back against the counter, gripping the edge so tight that her knuckles blanched. His expression fell. "What's wrong?"

The mood in the kitchen dropped, like the plummet in air pressure that heralded the storm. The den had gone silent. Elizabeth glanced over. Alison and Jason were peering over the back of the couch, Jason's lips drawn into a pout whilst Alison frowned. Elizabeth caught Will's eye, and he nodded and headed over to the den with a breezy smile. "So, what are we watching?"

With a silent thank you, Elizabeth turned back to Henry. Her chest tightened, and the _thud, thud, thud_ of her pulse surged through her ears. His face was ridged with concern, his lips a mirror of Jason's. "What's going on?"

Elizabeth nodded towards the doorway and the dining room beyond. "Let's go to the office." She fought to keep her voice low and smooth, but it cracked, and a rush of fear flooded Henry's expression. He reached for her hand where it rested against the counter, but she jerked her arm away, pulling it tight to her chest before he had the chance to touch her.

"Elizabeth? What's happened?"

The front door slammed. "Mom?" Stevie shouted. "Mom?" Footsteps pounded towards the kitchen, and Elizabeth's stomach sank. Something—maternal instinct, CIA skills—told her that their daughter already knew.

Stevie froze in the doorway. Her eyes were rimmed red and her lips were pursed, but as she looked at her father, all that hurt turned into a torrent anger. "How could you?" she screamed. "How could you?" And she launched herself at Henry.

Elizabeth jumped in between. She wrapped one arm around her daughter's waist, the other pinning her fists to her sides, and she hauled her away. With Stevie's back resting against her chest, both of them facing a horror-stricken Henry, Elizabeth nuzzled Stevie's hair and whispered, "Breathe, baby, just breathe."

And as Stevie stilled, sobs wracked through her chest. Elizabeth clung to her and absorbed them all, just as she had done was Stevie was a child, just as Henry did for her, when she was in pain.

In the den, Will, Jason and Alison all stared at them over the back of the couch. Then Alison and Jason eased to their feet, like foals testing their legs for the first time, and they came to stand behind their father in the kitchen. There would be no way of keeping it from them now.

Henry's mouth hung open. And—barring her trips to warring countries—Elizabeth had never seen him look so afraid in her life. "What on earth is going on?"

"Alison, Jason, please will you go up to your rooms," Elizabeth said, and when they didn't move, she added, "Now."

"Don't," Stevie shouted, and she wrestled free of her mother's grip. She glanced over her shoulder. "They have the right to know."

"Stevie," Elizabeth said, "I'm asking you, please don't do this." And she would have got down on her knees and begged if she thought it would help. But Stevie had that stubborn look in her eye, the one that dared anyone to defy her.

She pulled an envelope from her bag, and Elizabeth pinched her brow. So this was how it was going to happen. Stevie tugged out the photographs, and as she did, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. "You're a liar—" she threw the first picture at Henry "—and a cheat—" she threw the second one "—and I hate you." She threw the third.

Henry caught hold of the photos. He turned them over so that the images were facing up, and he stared at them like they held lines and lines of foreign text, not pictures showing in black and white what he had done.

Henry looked up. He stared past their daughter, his eyes locked on Elizabeth's. His expression held nothing but shock and horror and utter disbelief. "Elizabeth, I didn't…that's not me…" And either he was telling the truth, or he could beat a polygraph with more ease than she ever had.

Elizabeth swallowed. All eyes were on her. "You have five seconds to explain," she said, "and I know this isn't _work_ —" that other _work_ , the _work_ they weren't meant to talk about "—and I know from security that you weren't here last night."

"But I was," Henry said, and his frown deepened. If she had a good read on him, she would say he was baffled now. But maybe her read on him had never been that good at all, not if she hadn't noticed something like this. "I was here all night, hoping that you would ditch work and come home."

"Maybe you got tired of waiting, decided to—" Will began. He was stood behind Alison and Jason towards the other end of the island.

Elizabeth held up one hand and cut him off. Her gaze never left Henry; her eyes trained on every flinch, every flicker, every micro-expression. "My security doesn't fail to record when a curtain blows in the wind, you really expect me to believe that they'd forget to log who when in and out of the house?"

"They were changing shift," Henry said, and there was a hitch in his voice. "There was only that new guy on the door. I didn't stop to…" But he shook his head. He held up the photographs and waved them at her. The paper warbled in the air. "This isn't me."

Will let out a snort. "Don't gaslight her."

Henry's jaw clenched, but he ignored her brother. "Elizabeth, you can't believe that I would do this. I love you. I would never cheat on you, ever."

"Or maybe you just thought you'd never be caught," Stevie said. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "At least have the decency to admit what you've done."

"But I didn't do anything." Henry's voice rose sharply.

Will stepped forward, pushing past Alison and Jason. He gripped Henry's shoulder, and the image of her brother, just fifteen years old with an ice pack pressed to his lip flooded Elizabeth's mind. "I think you should leave," Will said.

But Henry shrugged him off, like a horse flinching at a fly, and Elizabeth thanked whatever forces were out there that in that moment Henry's sole focus was on her. "You have to believe me," he said, and he stared into her eyes. "You have to." It was imperative in all its forms.

"I want to believe you, Henry," Elizabeth said. How she wanted to! She closed her eyes, and it was Conrad's voice that came to her this time. _Trust no one, Bess; the minute you do, you're flying blind_. "But you're not giving me anything to work with." She shook her head to herself. Occam's razor: the simplest explanation is often the right one. She met his eye. Her throat bobbed. "Maybe Will's right. Maybe you should leave."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 **Henry**

"Maybe Will's right. Maybe you should leave." A kick to the stomach would have left Henry with more breath.

Elizabeth held his gaze. Her eyes were drained of their usual sparkle, instead filled only with hurt. And Stevie, their daughter— _We made this_ —stood between them. She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling, but the tears continued to roll down her cheeks and tumble to the floor. The way they looked at him now, he felt as though he was Gregor Samsa, metamorphosed into a hideous creature with six legs and a shell. He might be the same inside, but they couldn't see it; all they could see were the images and this monstrous form.

Henry placed the pictures down on top of the hob. "Elizabeth—" he took a step towards her, but Will grasped his shoulder again, holding him back, and Stevie backed up, shielding her mother.

"You heard her, Henry," Will said, and though he kept his tone level, the hatred bubbled just beneath the surface. "It's time for you to go." And then he was steering Henry towards the door.

Henry dug his heels in. This was his home, his family. How could they believe this? How could Elizabeth even begin to think…? He stared hard into Elizabeth's eyes, but his vision softened as tears began to well. "I didn't do this. I would never do this. I love you, Elizabeth—" she flinched, and her gaze fell to the floor "—I love you." His throat clenched so tight that it felt as though those might be the last words he ever got to say.

Elizabeth pinched her temples, whilst her other hand found her hip. "Then why—" she began, but then her frown deepened as her gaze sharpened on the slip of paper that had fallen from the envelope. She touched Stevie's waist. "Did the copies you got come with a note?"

Stevie's expression faltered, a jolt of surprise through the hurt and anger. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. "But it didn't make any sense…just something about President Dalton condoning such behaviour."

Elizabeth stepped around Stevie and knelt down at the end of the kitchen island. She clutched the slip of paper in both hands, her face fixed in a frown as she mumbled over the words. Then she stopped. Henry's heart pounded so hard that its _thuds_ seemed to echo off the walls. What did it say?

Elizabeth let out of whoosh of breath, and her shoulders caved forward as if her whole body were collapsing. She shook her head to herself, the ends of her hair dancing, the golden blonde gleaming almost white beneath the kitchen lights. She looked up at Henry, and though the weariness was still there, it now fought with the potent mix of fear and hope. "It doesn't say ' _condone_ '," she said, and she handed him the slip.

He took it. He skimmed over the monospaced typeface; reminiscent of bad spy movies and smudged typewriter font. _Will President Dalton endorse such behaviour?_ Endorse, not condone. His hope hung on a single verb. He looked down at Elizabeth. She was still staring up at him. He cleared his throat as he placed the note down on the countertop. "You think…?"

Elizabeth nodded. The election. He extended his hand to her, half-expecting her to flinch away again, but her fingers wrapped around his and clutched tight as she hauled herself to standing. "Oh, Henry." Then her arms were around his waist, her face buried in his shirt, hot tears soaking through to the skin beneath. His whole body froze—like the moment when you wake up from a deep sleep—and then he wrapped his arms around her; one hand against the small of her back pulling her closer, the other smoothing circles over her shoulder blades. He kissed her crown and breathed in her scent, filling his lungs with orange and warmth and jasmine and—

"Wait," Jason said, and his tone cut between them, "what's going on?"

Elizabeth drew back, and still holding on to Henry's waist, she leant to the side and looked past him. "I think someone's trying to frame your father."

"Lizzie," Will said, his voice thick with incredulity, "that's insane. You can't seriously believe that this is some kind of conspiracy?"

Henry's body tensed and a flush of anger rippled through his veins. He spun round to face Will. "You know what's insane, Will? The idea that I would ever cheat on my wife." Because no matter what happened, no matter how strained their relationship became, he would never cheat. His vows weren't just words; they were an oath, a promise, something sacred that he would die before breaking.

"Henry," Elizabeth said, his name sounding more like a breath than a word. She laid her hands against his shoulders, and the tension melted beneath her fingertips. Then she rested her forehead against the base of his neck, and her voice reverberated through him. "Go sit down."

Everyone watched him, waiting to see what he would do next. But he just nodded and stepped away from the comfort of his wife's touch, and then walked towards the dining table next to the den. He brushed past Will, whilst Alison and Jason stepped aside to let him through. Alison's gaze held to the floor, whilst Jason met him with a scowl. He leant back against the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest as the scene in the kitchen continued.

"You have photographic evidence," Jason said, and he gestured to the pictures still resting on the hob, "and he—" he stabbed at Henry "—has no alibi. You can't possibly believe him just because whoever sent these pictures has crappy verb choice."

"I can," Elizabeth said, and her gaze flitted to meet Henry's for a second, "and I do."

And in his mind, Henry recited a prayer of gratitude, because it was God's grace that had enabled Elizabeth to see the truth and to trust in him when no one else could.

"I know what this looks like," Elizabeth said, and she looked to their children and to Will in turn, "but please can you just think outside the box for one moment; don't be blinded by the narrative that whoever sent these wants us to believe."

"Then what narrative would _you_ have us believe?" Jason buried his fists beneath his elbows. He leant against the bannister. And even with his back to him, Henry could recognise his son's sullen pout.

"Lizzie." Will dragged out her name. "I know you want to believe him, but this is crazy."

"Trust me, Will," Elizabeth's tone sharpened, "whatever this is—" her hand hovered over the photographs "—it's not half as crazy as the things that I've seen."

"Maybe that's the problem." Will shrugged. "You've lived through too many spy movies, and now conspiracies are all you can see. Sometimes the truth is the truth, even when it sucks."

A flash of annoyance coursed across Elizabeth's face. "Thanks for the aphorism, Will. But until someone can provide incontrovertible proof that this is real, I'm going to believe my husband."

"Geez, Mom, just how much proof do you need?" Jason turned and stormed up the stairs. His footsteps thundered through the house and then died with the slam of a door. Seconds later the walls shook with a blaring baseline. The neighbours had complained about the engines of the motorcade, just wait until they had a taste of teenage animosity.

Elizabeth looked to Alison, then Stevie, as though hopeful that they might agree with her point of view. But they found interest in their shoes, their hair sweeping forward to shield their faces. Then, without a word, they disappeared upstairs too.

Elizabeth's eyes closed, and she let out a long breath. "So much for team McCord," she said when she met Henry's gaze. And his heart sank, not from surprise, but more in acceptance of what he already knew. Trust was a blown glass figurine; laboriously crafted, but it could shatter with a single blow.

He stood up from his perch against the table and opened his arms to her. She stepped into them, and as she held him, she bunched the back of his shirt in her fists. When she spoke, her lips moved against his shoulder. "I think we need to speak to Conrad."

* * *

The grandfather clock that stood just inside the door of the Oval Office chimed. Its toll rang out like church bells over a graveyard. Elizabeth was leant back against the cushions of the cerulean couch, her leg crossed away from Henry, as she stared distantly at the prison cell stripes of the wallpaper. Henry laid his hand against her knee. She jumped, and her gaze fell to her lap.

Maybe she was having second thoughts. Maybe she doubted him too. "Babe?" His mouth had turned dry. He clutched her hand. "Elizabeth, I swear—"

She twisted her hand beneath his, bringing them palm to palm, and then she laced their fingers together. "I'm sorry—" her throat bobbed as she swallowed "—I'm sorry that you have to go through this."

Oh. She didn't doubt him; she blamed herself. Henry slid closer and tangled his free hand through her hair as he drew her towards him. "Babe, this isn't your fault." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and the silky strands tickled his chin.

"But it's because of _my_ job," Elizabeth said, "because of _my_ plans to run." Her breath puffed against his neck. "Now Will, the kids…"

He kissed her again. "I know." And his chest tightened; whoever was doing this had his own family fooled, even—for a while—his wife.

"Bess, Henry." Conrad's voice greeted them, and Elizabeth pushed herself away from Henry's embrace. One hand still clutched his and rested in her lap, whilst the other raked through her hair. Conrad and Russell took their seats on the opposite couch. Both looked at Elizabeth with concern. "What's the matter, Bess?"

Elizabeth leant forward and retrieved the envelope from her bag; the one marked 'For the attention of Russell Jackson'. She passed it to Russell. "This arrived at your office earlier on today." Russell frowned at her and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "Stevie opened it. Then she brought it home. A second copy, without the note, was sent straight to my office."

Russell pulled the pictures out of the envelope. He stared down at them, his gaze flitted to Henry—a flash of judgement—and then he passed them to Conrad.

"That's why you wanted to know about intelligence work?" Russell asked. His gaze kept flitting back and forth between them, an unnerving metronome. Elizabeth nodded. So she had checked up on him after all, had assumed that there must have been a logical explanation for those images. Russell's gaze stopped on Henry. "But surely you must have an alibi?"

Before Henry could speak, Elizabeth said, "I was working on the adoption bill all night, and the kids were out, so Henry was alone. There wasn't much security at the house, and he didn't speak to anyone on the way in, so the security log says there was no one home." She pointed to the slip of paper fastened to the top of the photographs. "When Stevie brought back those copies, I saw the note." Russell glanced down at it, as if it could have said anything, but Conrad stared hard; he could see something more.

"Odd choice of words," Conrad said.

"That's what I thought," Elizabeth said, and she squeezed Henry's hand, as though Conrad's statement was a kind of vindication, a hope that they could cling to that everything would be all right. "I know it's far-fetched, sir, but you've always trusted my read on a situation before."

Russell looked at the note again, and he raised his eyebrows. Now the metronome ticked between Conrad and Elizabeth. "You think this has to do with Bess's plans to run?" _Tick, tick, tick, tick._

"Either that," Conrad said, "or Henry's having an affair." His gaze turned on Henry, the look so keen it could pierce every pore. Henry's breath bound his chest. Surely Conrad would believe him, after all the intelligence work he had done; NSA, Bolivia, DIA, Murphy Station, SAD. But Conrad was the one who had advised Elizabeth to _trust no one_.

"Sir," Elizabeth said, her tone much firmer than before, "I know Henry. I know he hasn't done this." She leant forward and waited until Conrad met her eye before continuing. "I'm not asking you to trust him, but I am asking you to trust me."

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick._ The grandfather clock and Russell's gaze had synchronised. Back and forth, back and forth. Conrad, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Conrad. _Trust no one_. But there were exceptions to every rule. Right?

Conrad nodded. "All right, Bess. I'll have the agencies look into it."

"Thank you, sir," Elizabeth said, and she let out a deep breath. Her palm was clammy against Henry's, but he couldn't tell whether the sweat was hers or his own.

* * *

Above their house, a thick blanket of clouds swathed the night sky, murky grey blocking out the stars and cloaking the moon. Henry offered Elizabeth his hand as she climbed out of the car, and she slipped her arm through his whilst they walked up to the porch. The security agent nodded to her—"Ma'am."—and stepped aside. Their eyes were always watching out for her, if only they had looked out for him too.

Henry froze on the front step. Elizabeth let go and turned to face him. Her brow creased. "What is it?" She definitely didn't need him adding to her stress, but something was niggling away.

Henry scratched the back of his head. "I just…I don't want to face Will." There, he'd said it. He shrugged. "It just irritates me how he's absent for so long and then swoops in…" his hand sailed through the air; the same way her own had so many times when talking about her brother.

Her hands found his waist, and her thumbs brushed circles through his shirt, easing away the tension that gripped his body. "He's just trying to protect me."

"I know," Henry said. And it was good that Will was there, that Elizabeth finally had her brother back again. At least he was just a phone call away and she no longer had to worry so much about being the last Adams standing. "But it's _my_ job to protect you."

Elizabeth snorted and her eyes danced with laughter. "Jealous much?"

Henry turned away, pushing her hands from his waist. If she was just going to tease him—

But Elizabeth pulled him back and wrapped her arms around him so that she could trail her fingers up and down his spine. She looked up at him, her smile still crinkling the corners of her eyes. "One good thing about Will is that he is remarkably reliable." Henry scoffed at that, and she raised her eyebrows at him. "Just as he will swoop in and inflict unknown levels of chaos, when the time comes he will swoop out again, and everything will return to how it was before."

"After we've cleared up the mess," Henry said, and she gave a little shrug as if to concede the point. His tone sobered again. "But what if things can't go back to the way they were before? What if I can't prove my innocence? What if the pictures get leaked?" His gaze fell from hers, as the pit of his stomach twisted tighter and tighter, run through the mangle of 'what ifs'.

"Hey." Elizabeth cupped his jaw. She drew his gaze back to her eyes.

He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, his chest shook. "I just can't stand people—your brother, the kids, your colleagues—thinking that I would do this, thinking that I _could_ do this to you."

"We'll figure it out," Elizabeth said, "I promise." And as she brushed her thumb over his cheek, she leant in and pressed her lips to his—just a flutter of a kiss. "You go up to bed. I'll deal with Will."

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Music filtered down the stairs and filled the lower level of the house with an asynchronous hum. Elizabeth found Will in the den, sat on the sofa, sipping from a bottle of beer. He looked up when she came in. "How'd it go?"

Elizabeth perched on the arm of the couch. "Fine." She let out a terse sigh. Everyone looked at her as though she was a fool to believe her husband, but apart from that, everything was fine. "Thanks for staying." She lifted the bottle from Will and took a swig before passing it back. The beer was cool and smooth against her tongue. "Have the kids been all right?"

"They haven't come out of their rooms; not even for pizza." He tipped his bottle towards the half-eaten box of Hawaiian that was strewn across the coffee table. "They seem intent on drowning out their thoughts with music, or at least giving themselves tinnitus."

"Hah."

Will stood up from the couch and stretched. He turned to face her, then paused, as if debating whether to say whatever it was that he wanted to say next. "I know that you want to believe him, maybe _have to_ believe him, but I'm worried that you're going to get hurt." He studied her, a certain sincerity in his features that had never suited him, never suited them—that was why they bickered, to distract themselves from the things that they really ought to talk about but couldn't bear to broach.

Elizabeth crossed her wrists in her lap as she met his gaze. "If our sole focus in life was to avoid being hurt, we'd never live."

A smile cracked his lips. "Thanks for the aphorism, Lizzie." And the air lifted for just a second, a parachute rising before its fall. "I remember what it was like just before you left the CIA; what he was like." _If you leave, I don't know what things will look like when you get back_. "No one's perfect, Lizzie, not even Henry."

Elizabeth tugged her lips to one side. She shook her head. "I'm not saying he's perfect, and our marriage certainly isn't perfect, but it works because we are committed to one another, to us. For him to have an affair…" the images of the blonde woman flitted across her mind "…he would have to be a totally different person."

Will's gaze continued to rake through her eyes, as if trying to uncover any seeds of doubt that lay beneath. Then he shrugged. "Okay, but you'll have to forgive me for not trusting him, and know that if at any point you start to see things differently, I'm here for you." She nodded, and he rested one hand against her arm as he kissed her cheek. "Night, Lizzie."

"Night, Will." Elizabeth lingered on the arm of the couch, whilst Will's footsteps faded through the kitchen. But before they died away completely, she called over her shoulder, "And when I prove that he's innocent, that he didn't do this…?"

The footsteps stopped. "I'll be the first to apologise."

Elizabeth nodded. She'd remind him of that when the time came.

* * *

The baseline pulsed down the landing and vibrated through the soles of Elizabeth's feet. If she didn't know better, she'd say that all three of her children were going through simultaneous break-ups. She knocked at Stevie's door, and when there was no reply, she pushed the door open anyway.

Stevie was on her bed, huddled in a pink mohair blanket as she scowled down at the laptop that rested on her bedside table. Elizabeth picked up the remote control from the end of the bed and zapped the speakers into silence. Only when she sat down on the edge of the bed and touched Stevie's knee did her daughter look up at her.

Stevie's eyes were swollen, their edges as pink as the blanket, and she wore a firm pout. She could almost be thirteen again, distraught when her first boyfriend had ditched her and taken some other girl to the mall.

She tugged at the tassels that fringed the throw covering her bed. "Last time I saw him with another woman, you said that I was entitled to my opinions but not to an explanation." She stared Elizabeth hard in the eye. "Do you have an explanation this time?"

Elizabeth's lips tweaked into a sorry smile. Of course, Stevie had been through this all before, had been through the cycle of trust and distrust, had lived with those niggling doubts. "No, I don't, not yet."

Stevie's frown deepened. "Then how can you trust him?"

"Because I know your father better than I know anyone," Elizabeth said. She shrugged slightly and her gaze sailed past Stevie to the poster on the wall. Her shoulders fell again, a kind of deflation, a soundless sigh. "And because I love him."

People always said that her daughter was the spitting image of herself, but there was so much of Henry there too. It was the kindness in Stevie's eyes that had always struck her, their openness, their willingness to learn. But the barriers had come up now, the defences she had inherited from her mother.

"And you don't think that maybe that's clouding your judgment?" Stevie said.

That's what President Dalton had wanted to say back in the Oval Office, when she had pointed out that he had always trusted her read on a situation before. At least he had the decency not to say it in front of Henry. Some things didn't need words in order to be told though.

"Would you rather that your dad _was_ cheating on me?" Elizabeth asked.

Stevie shook her head, an adamant—"No."

"Me neither," Elizabeth said. "And as long as there's a chance, however slight, that something else is going on, that's what I'm going to believe." She brushed away the stray tear that trailed down Stevie's cheek, then tangled her fingers through the ends of her daughter's hair. When had it gotten so long? She offered Stevie a small smile. "There's pizza downstairs, if you want some."

"I'm not hungry," Stevie said, but she hugged her stomach as if to smother any telltale grumbles. And Elizabeth wouldn't be surprised if she found all three children scavenging in the kitchen like feral animals the moment that she retired to her room.

She eased herself up off the edge of the bed, then leant in to press a kiss to Stevie's forehead. "Night, sweetheart. I love you."

"Night, Mom. I love you too."

Elizabeth paused when she reached the doorway. She held onto the frame as she turned back to her daughter. "And no more music—please. I can't remember the last time I had a proper sleep." Though even without their music, she doubted that true sleep would come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 **Elizabeth**

The whir of the coffee machine drowned out the drone of the morning news, and the rich aroma wafted up to greet Elizabeth as she stepped out onto the landing. She tucked her blouse into her skirt as she made her way to the stairs, and only half succeeded in stifling a yawn. Jason was sat on the top step, his face fixed in the same frown and pout as the night before.

Elizabeth touched his shoulder, before sitting down next to him. When he continued to stare straight ahead into some unseeable distance, she bumped her elbow against his. "Want to talk?" Jason shook his head, so she tried again. "Want to come down for breakfast?"

Jason jutted his jaw to one side. "I'm waiting until _he's_ gone."

" _He_ ," Elizabeth said, and she dragged out the word with a drawl of incredulity, "as in your father?" _As in the first person to hold you, whilst nurses rushed to give me blood. As in the man who I trusted to raise my son._

Jason met her with a steely gaze. "In a strictly biological sense."

"Wow." Elizabeth suppressed a snort. Things just got Jungian. "Well, don't wait too long; you'll be late for school." She squeezed his knee, and standing up on the steps, she steadied herself against the bannister.

"I'm not going," Jason said.

Elizabeth turned back to face him. "Oh really?"

"You do realise how humiliating this is going to be when those pictures come out." Jason's expression darkened, but not enough to hide the glimmer of fear beneath. "That woman is barely older than Stevie. The press is going to tear us apart—" his eyes filled with a kind of shameful anger "—tear you apart."

And they would; they'd find all kinds of foul things to say. Call her emasculating, frigid, less than a woman. Made all the worse by the fact that they weren't true, none of this was true. "There's nothing to suggest that whoever has these images is intending to leak them."

"Yet," Jason said, and the word resounded in her mind.

"I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen," Elizabeth said, "and to find out what's really going on."

"Whatever." Jason stood up and trudged back down the hall to his room.

"Jason," Elizabeth called after him, but he slammed the door and the vibrations juddered through the walls.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it rush out. On days like this, it made her wish she had stuck to meditation.

Stevie and Alison were sat in the silence at the table. They stared down at their bowls of cereal, hunched over as if trying to block out the view of their father in the kitchen. Henry was leant back against the counter next to the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. His eyes were vacant, staring far into the distance, just as Jason's had, but he looked up and gave her a weak smile as she climbed down the last step. "Hey, babe."

"Hey, you." She patted his chest and leant in to peck his lips before going to claim her own mug of coffee. Her gaze flitted to him as she poured. The distant look had returned. "Been up long?"

"Couldn't sleep," Henry said. And she nodded; the bed had been cold when she woke. "I didn't want to keep you up."

"I got a text from Russell asking us to come in this afternoon." She stood toe to toe with him as she sipped her coffee and waited for the buzz of caffeine to hit her veins. "They're going to brief the agencies today." Henry set his mug down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hey—" she tapped his foot with her toes "—it's going to be okay."

He smiled, still a little grim, and nodded. "It just means more people looking at…at _that_. More people judging and thinking I would…" His shoulders tensed, and it tugged at her heart.

She stepped closer, nudging his feet apart so that she could fit in between. Then she slid her hands up his chest and massaged his shoulders. "I know, but we'll do it together, okay?"

"Okay." He found her waist and pulled her closer until she met his lips with a sweet kiss. "I love you."

"I like you okay too." She flashed him a smile and received a hint of one in return. It was a start. "Just try not to think about it, and I'll see you this afternoon."

* * *

The staff stood up as Elizabeth strode into the meeting room where they were holding their morning briefing. She waved them back to their seats and skirted around the edge of the table to her own chair. Within seconds, Blake had set a cup of coffee in front of her with a tentative smile. She frowned. Did he know?

"Late night?" Jay asked from across the table. He flicked through the pages of the binder set out in front of him, pausing to wet his thumb when the sheets slipped from his grasp.

"Long night," Elizabeth said, and she pulled her own binder towards her.

"Well, I'm afraid it's going to be a long day too."

Elizabeth's stomach clenched. Why could they never greet her with good news?

Kat set her hands on the desk, fingers spread, palms arched. She looked straight at Elizabeth. "The Russians have decided to shut down our embassy in Moscow and are expelling all of our staff in retaliation for the closure of the Seattle consulate."

"What?" The words rang through her mind. "You can't be serious. Well of course you're serious, but that kind of escalation is totally unwarranted." Though when had that ever stopped the Russians before? They were like coiled springs, just waiting for the slightest prod to set them off.

"Salnikov is desperate to prove that he's being tough on America," Jay said, and he leant forward. With his elbows resting atop the binder, he held his pen between both hands. "I guess he's no longer happy tearing you apart on his chat show and wants people to see that he's a man of action."

"I'll show him action," Elizabeth muttered. "Blake." Blake's gaze snapped up from the laptop in the corner. "Summon the Russian ambassador. We need to have a word."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

When the staff meeting had concluded, Elizabeth retreated to her office. Daisy followed, her heels tapping against the floor. The door shut, and Daisy stepped forward, her hands clutched in front of her, as Elizabeth sank down onto the couch.

"Ma'am, I just wanted to check in…"

Elizabeth rested her elbows against her knees, her hands folded beneath her chin. "The photos." She clicked her tongue. "They're fakes—" disbelief flashed across Daisy's face long before she could conceal it "—you don't have to believe me; no one else does."

"I—" Daisy floundered.

Elizabeth held up one hand. "The security services are looking into the matter, but in the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself and if you hear anything at all—if the media even hint at it—let me know immediately."

Daisy's lips pressed into a firm line. She nodded. "Yes, ma'am." She turned, as if to head back to the door, but then hesitated. "And if there's anything else I can do to help…"

"Thank you, Daisy."

Once Daisy had left, she settled back against the cushions and tossed her glasses down onto the seat next to her. But no matter how she sat, she couldn't get comfortable. Just like The Princess and the Pea; the story she had read to Stevie and Alison when they were little girls. Only her discomfort didn't make her fit to marry a prince, it just served as a reminder that her own prince was being painted as a troll.

What was worse? People thinking that her husband had had an affair, or people thinking she was too gullible to see the truth? There were always signs; a hint of perfume, odd phone calls, a smudge of lipstick, barriers coming up. If there had been any signs with Henry, she would have been the first to notice them. Right?

* * *

Staffers flurried through the corridors of the White House, alive with the swish of paperwork and quick-paced chatter. Elizabeth slipped her hand into Henry's and linked her fingers through his whilst they drifted along in a claustrophobic silence. Henry's jaw was tense, his shoulders were tense, everything was tense. He looked ready to snap.

She opened her mouth, about to tell him it would be okay, everything would be okay, but then she closed it again, and pursed her lips.

"Bess, Henry." Russell led them into the Oval Office, and as they entered, Elizabeth squeezed Henry's hand one last time, then she let go. She directed Henry to take a seat at the end of the nearest couch, then she perched against the armrest.

Conrad was sat behind his desk, leant right back in his chair with his elbows resting against the arms. Stood in front of the desk were Ephraim Ware; the Director of the DSS, Mark Greyling; and a slim-built man with wiry glasses and dark hair just beginning to fade into grey. The man looked familiar, but Elizabeth couldn't place a title or a name. They all turned to Elizabeth and Henry as they entered.

"Bess, Henry." Conrad nodded to them. Then he gestured to the dark-haired man. "I don't think you've met our new FBI Director, Jon Smythe."

Jon stepped forward, hand outstretched, lips drawn into a taut smile that looked more like a grimace, as if someone had dug a needle into the sole of his foot. "Nice to meet you, Madam Secretary." He shook Elizabeth's hand, his grip weak. There was a slight pause before he nodded to Henry. "Dr McCord." Then he retreated a few paces, bringing himself in line with the couch opposite.

"I've brought everyone up to speed," Conrad said. "Ephraim?"

Ephraim began to speak, and as he did, he kept twisting round, one minute facing Conrad, the next Elizabeth. "The photos may very well be fake," he said. And Henry's hand brushed against Elizabeth's thigh. She caught his fingers and clung to them, taking as much support from him as he did from her. Ephraim continued, "With recent advances in artificial intelligence, it's becoming easier for people to create photos—and even videos—that it's nigh on impossible to distinguish from the real thing." He shook his head to himself, teeth clenched. "It's an issue that we're becoming increasingly concerned about."

Conrad pinched his bottom lip. His expression had darkened, like thunderclouds rolling in over the plains. "A new age of propaganda."

"Is there any way to prove that they're fake?" Elizabeth asked. She tangled her fingers through Henry's. If they could just show, conclusively, that the images were fraudulent, this might all go away. Unless, of course, someone decided to leak them anyway…

Ephraim's lips drew into a bleak line. "At the end of the day, it comes down to the pattern of pixels." He shrugged. "What's to say which have come from the real world and which have been pasted together on a computer screen?"

Elizabeth's chest deflated. "What about the security log?" She looked to Mark Greyling, a balding man, wide and tall, whose eyebrows more than made up for the waning hair on his head.

"The security log doesn't have any record of anyone being at the residence last night," Mark said, "but I'm going to check with the agents on duty." He looked to Henry. "Did you speak to anyone on the way in?"

Henry looked up at Elizabeth before shaking his head. "Elizabeth was at the office, so there weren't many agents there. One of the newer recruits was near the door, but I didn't speak to him…I don't know if he saw me or not."

Mark's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then he turned back to Elizabeth. "Our agents go through rigorous training—"

"But everyone has a bad day, right?" Elizabeth flashed him a smile that made her cheeks ache. Why were they all so reluctant to believe Henry?

Mark gave a half shrug. "As I said, I'll speak to the agents on duty. And I'd like to arrange to do a full sweep of your house in the next few days. We check it pretty regularly, but I think we should do a more in-depth search." His chest swelled as he took a deep breath, and his gaze dipped to the floor. "I have to say though, I don't think we'll be able to help with this matter."

Elizabeth's heart sank, but she kept her smile fixed in place and squeezed Henry's hand. They would find another way.

Stood next to the couch opposite, the new FBI director shifted his weight from one foot to the other and hugged his chest. His gaze was as harsh as the lights that detectives shone on suspects in those tacky cop shows that the kids watched sometimes, when they had flicked through every single channel and found nothing else on.

Conrad tapped the arm of his chair, the fingers of his other hand resting against his lips. He raised his eyebrows at the FBI director. "Any thoughts, Jon?"

"Frankly—" Jon drew out the word, and it prickled over Elizabeth's skin "—I think this is a domestic issue and a waste of resources." Tension radiated from Henry, a flush of heat that washed over Elizabeth and spread into the room, but the director didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he just didn't care. He continued. "With all due respect, Madam Secretary, if we investigated every case of a husband dipping his wick in another candle—"

Elizabeth's pulse pounded through her ears, and her whole body throbbed with each beat. It felt like streams of lava had replaced the blood in her veins. But before she could say anything, Henry shot up from the couch, fists clenched. "Hey!" And he lunged at Jon. Jon must have noticed the tension then, for he jumped backwards, the slimy smile wiped from his face.

Elizabeth darted between them. She faced Henry, and placed one hand on his chest, her fingers forming a star. Just the touch of her fingertips stalled him, but his heart still hammered beneath, and every strike—every ember of rage—coursed through her too. With the slightest pressure, she urged him back a step. As much as she would love to hit the guy, fighting wasn't the answer. She kept her hand against Henry's chest as she turned to face Jon.

Jon's shoulders had rounded forward, like a dog cowering from its master. And he was right to cower; if Elizabeth hadn't been in the room, nothing would have stopped her husband. She glared at the FBI director. "Next time you think to start a sentence by saying 'with all due respect', I suggest that you shut your mouth, or believe me when I say, I will shut it for you."

"She's got a mean right hook, Jon." Russell's voice drawled from the edge of the room.

Jon held up his hands. "Look, I'm just saying, it's not my job to hold together your fairytale romance at the taxpayer's expense."

Christ, this guy just didn't know when to stop. "My husband is not having an affair." She delivered each word deliberately. "And regardless of what you believe, someone has sent these pictures to myself—and to the president—as a threat. Now, I understand that dealing with such threats is your job. If you don't find that to your taste, I'd be perfectly willing to recommend any number of candidates as your replacement."

The obsequious smile returned, and Jon's gaze flickered to Conrad, as if to verify just how much sway Elizabeth had. But Conrad's expression remained impassive, waiting to see how this all played out.

"I've obviously touched a nerve," Jon said, and Elizabeth almost snorted. _No kidding, Jon._ "President Dalton has asked the FBI to investigate, and we will. All I ask of you, Madam Secretary, is to keep your mind open to all possibilities, including the very likely possibility that your husband has a bit on the side."

Henry's chest surged beneath her touch. She increased the pressure, pushing him back. Perhaps bringing Henry to the meeting was a mistake, but he had the right to know what was being discussed, had the right to defend himself, though preferably not with his fists.

Conrad raised his eyebrows at the FBI director. "That's enough, Jon. I think you've made your point more than clear."

"Sir." Jon bowed.

"If that's all, sir," Elizabeth said, "I need to get back to the office." It wasn't a lie, but more than that, if they didn't leave soon, she would say something she would regret. Or perhaps wouldn't regret, but it certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

Conrad nodded. "See you later, Bess. Henry."

* * *

 **Henry**

Blood scorched Henry's veins. The moment that they stepped out of the Oval Office he stormed down the corridor. The wallpaper pulsed like strobing lights. He ducked into one of the vacant meeting rooms, with its elegant walnut table and lines of brown leather seats. He seized one of the chairs and threw it to the floor with a crash. How could all these people just stand there, with their smug smiles and judgemental looks, and condemn him without a shred of proof? What happened to trust? What happened to truth? What happened to justice?

With his pulse still blaring, he kicked the upturned chair and then sank to the floor, his knees bent, his head in his hands.

"Well, at least we know where Jason gets his temper from."

He looked up at Elizabeth's voice. She was leant in the doorway, her arms folded loosely over stomach. She offered him a small smile, but with the rage still burning, he couldn't muster anything in return. His gaze fell back to the floor, and he dug his fingernails into his temples, as though the slight sting might soothe his nerves. "I'm telling you, if you hadn't stepped between me and that…" his jaw clenched. Many words sprung to mind, but none quite summed up his loathing towards the FBI director.

"I know," Elizabeth said. She slipped into the room and pushed the door to behind her, then kicked off her heels and sat down next to him. Her fingertips trailed up and down his spine, stopping now and then to work the knots from his muscles until they yielded and his body relaxed into her touch. "I could punch him too. But that won't get us anywhere."

"It would make me feel better though." He turned towards her and caught the glimmer of her smile.

"For a little while." She turned her attention to his lower back, drawing circles that started out small but grew wider and wider with each turn. "Things will work out, Henry."

"What if they don't?" Her touch stilled for a moment, and then started again, now moving in the opposite direction. "Somebody has already gone to all this trouble; what else might they do?" He looked to the floor again, and shook his head to himself. "It feels like I'm in The Trial. Guilt is assumed, and the rules of the court are unknown."

There was a pause. He sensed the smile that tugged at Elizabeth's lips more than he saw it; it was like the feeling when a ray of sunlight diffuses through a room. "Wow," she said, voice deadpan. "Kafka references? It must be bad." Then the ray flourished into a beam.

Henry chuckled. And he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close until she rested her head against his neck. The wisps of her hair tickled, and he filled his lungs with her scent; a hint of blossom and the warmth of citrus; a single breath could carry him home. "You do believe me, don't you?" he said. He wouldn't be surprised if she had doubts, especially when everyone else was so quick to denounce him.

"You're still breathing, aren't you?" She twisted so that she could see his face, then she cupped his cheek, her eyes locked on his. Blue like the ocean; it was a cliché, but he hadn't found another way to describe how they sparkled like sunlight on water, or how they possessed such depth, or how he would give everything he had to drown in them. "We'll get through this, Henry. I promise." Then she leant in and brushed her lips over his, more of a touch than a kiss, until he cradled her head in his hand and pulled her in for more.

When she drew back, she kept her lips close, so that her breath tingled over his skin. "I'll see you this evening, okay?" She nuzzled her nose against his. "I love you."

* * *

 **Jason**

The sound of the front door slamming interrupted the _tap, tap, tap_ as Jason pounded the keyboard of his laptop. His hands stilled. He unhooked the headphones from around his neck and set them down on the desk, then snuck out onto the landing. The air was thick from the heat of the radiators, and the acrid smell of overcooked garlic lingered from his reheated lunch.

"Anyone home?"

He froze at his father's voice. One hand found the wall and steadied him, as a cool sweat prickled over his skin. He padded along the carpet to the top of the stairs and began to creep down the steps. Each foot was placed with tentative precision, lest the wood creak beneath him and give him away.

His father had disappeared into the kitchen. Jason continued down the stairs and had almost made it to the bottom, when there was a sound like keys scraping against the countertop and the crescendo of footsteps stomping towards him. His heartbeat quickened, matching the footfall thud for thud. He glanced back up the stairs, and then down into the siting room, before he darted down the final steps and ducked beneath the piano. He crawled backwards until he was hidden beneath the strings— _so, the instrument had a practical use at last_.

His father strode through the living room, sailing past Jason, and headed straight for the front door. He pocketed his house keys, and then he was gone. But going where? He had only just got home.

Jason scrambled out from beneath the piano and grabbed his trainers from the closet. He tugged them on, pulled the hood of his sweater up, and then followed. His mother might not believe the photos sent by some anonymous source, but she would have to believe whatever he uncovered.

Jason kept his distance as his father walked down the street. He stuck close to the cars and the trees that lined the avenue, poised to dart between the bumpers or behind a trunk at the slightest indication that he had been made. But his father didn't look back once. He barely turned his head even when he went to cross the road. Perhaps his mother had been telling the truth when she said that their father wasn't working for intelligence. If he couldn't even tell when he was being tailed, catching him in the act would be easier than Jason thought.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

The house was buzzing with the beat of music when Elizabeth got home that evening. It shook through the house, pulsed through her feet, and jarred her nerves. How long would it be before their neighbours asked them to move out this time?

Cartons of Chinese takeaway littered the countertop in the kitchen, and the smell of five-spice and sesame oil infused the air. Elizabeth peered into the boxes, and her heart sank a little. No one had said that becoming Secretary of State would mean living off her family's leftovers.

Henry called through from the den. "I've saved you some over here." And he beckoned for her to join him on the couch. There was a separate pile of cartons on the coffee table. Elizabeth hovered over them as she searched for the pork dumplings. "I'm afraid we've now descended into placing separate orders," Henry said. "Apparently the kids can't bear for my food to be delivered at the same time as theirs."

Elizabeth stopped her search and turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised a fraction. "What?" She scoffed. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Henry shrugged, as though it didn't bother him, but his shoulders were tense and there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes. That pain radiated from him and ached through her, and it felt for a moment as though she were the one who had been falsely accused.

"Right." She straightened up and stepped towards the stairs. This was getting beyond a joke. But Henry's hand darted out and caught her wrist. His fingers pressed against her pulse, and it throbbed beneath his touch.

"Babe, just leave them." He tugged at her hand, and she let him pull her down onto the couch. She sat with her body turned towards him, one leg folded in front of her. He squeezed her calf. "Until we have proof, they're not going to listen anyway."

"But they shouldn't treat you like this." She slipped her fingers through his. No one should treat him like this.

"Hey—" Henry gave her a taut smile "—as long as I'm _persona non grata_ , we get the downstairs to ourselves. So it has some advantages." His smile softened, and it reached his eyes now, crinkling their edges and lighting them up with a dark glimmer.

Her pulsed quickened, and no sooner had her own smile blossomed than he cupped her cheek and drew her in for a kiss. The taste of sweet and sour sauce and the bitterness of beer overwhelmed her; they could have been living in their first apartment together all over again. He sucked on her lower lip, and as her lips parted, he shifted his weight over her and lowered her down onto the couch.

She nestled back against the cushions, relishing the warmth of his body pressed against hers; their own little cocoon, safe from the rest of the world. She slid her hands up his chest and tangled her fingers through his hair, letting her nails scrape over his scalp. He moaned into their kiss, and it buzzed through her. He teased up the hem of her shirt, his fingers dancing over her skin, but before she had the chance to reciprocate, his caress was met by a growl from her stomach. She sighed. So much for taking advantage of the situation.

His lips curled into a smile against hers, and then the smile turned into a soft chuckle. He pulled back slightly and nipped at the corners of her lips. "Hungry?"

She shrugged as she toyed with the strands at the nape of his neck. "A girl's gotta eat."

He stroked the wisps of hair back from her face and tucked them behind her ear. Then he looked down at her, with such sincerity and awe. "You know I love you, only you." He touched his lips to hers, his breath hot against her face. "I'd never give up what we have."

She brushed her thumb along his jaw. "I know. And I love you too."

He pulled her back up to sitting, and as she ate, she curled up against his side. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her close to his chest, whilst the other held his bottle of beer against the armrest. The television was on the background, some cooking show that they watched occasionally, but neither of them were really watching it now so much as staring through it.

"There was no milk in the fridge when I got home," Henry said. Elizabeth looked up at him as she used her tongue to clean pieces of food from between her teeth. Where exactly was this conversation going? "So I went out to the store to get some more." He glanced down at her. "Jason followed me."

Elizabeth pushed away from him so that she could see his face properly. She frowned. "Followed as in _tailed_?"

Henry nodded. Then he laughed. "He was so bad. He didn't even bother to walk on the opposite side of the street."

"Well at least he won't take up the family business," Elizabeth said. Just the thought of any of her kids becoming spies made her mind prickle; especially after some of the ops she had lived through. "Did you say anything?" She took another bite of dumpling, then discarded the second half in the box.

Henry shook his head. "If that's what he needs to do to, let him get on with it. The worst that will happen is that he realises just how mundane my everyday life is—" he caught her eye "—except for when I'm with you—" she arched her eyebrows; _nice save_ "—and at least I'll always have an alibi."

"You don't think he's taking it a bit far?" Elizabeth said. Playing loud music and locking himself in his room, well that was just being a teenager, but tracking his father's every move…

"I can live with it."

"Maybe we should set up a clandestine meeting of our own." She chucked the carton onto the coffee table and wiped down her hands. "That'll soon scare him off."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth smoothed out the creases of her dress, then she stood in front of her desk, her gaze trained on the door. A moment later, the Russian ambassador barrelled in. He held his arms wide, a jovial greeting, and he sported an almost baffled smile. Though even he couldn't be oblivious as to why he had been summoned there today. Not when Salnikov's chat show had become a nightly occurrence, and the rhetoric about shutting the American embassy was the only thing that would distract him from his tirades about Elizabeth and the Dalton administration.

Elizabeth frowned at the ambassador, and she gestured to the chairs in front of her. "Take a seat."

The ambassador looked around the room, as if expecting others to join them, or perhaps he was still feigning ignorance about what this meeting was regarding. Slowly, he lowered himself into the seat, but he perched at the edge and gripped the armrest. "Madam Secretary, I—"

"I understand that you're intending to close our embassy in Moscow and to expel our diplomats," Elizabeth said. She folded her arms over her chest, and shook her head to herself. "I'm a straight talking person, Mr Ambassador, so I'll cut to the point. This escalation is unwarranted and it will not work in your favour."

"But—" the ambassador held up his hand.

Elizabeth's gaze sharpened, and she raised her voice to speak over his protestations. "I suggest that you speak to President Salnikov and rectify the situation immediately, or else the United States is willing to put any number of sanctions in place." What those sanctions would be, she hadn't decided yet, but Conrad gave her a pretty long rein when it came to the Russians. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

"I have to warn you, Madam Secretary, that any sanctions against Russia would be met in kind," the ambassador said. He leant even further forward in his seat; just a centimetre more and he would find himself on the floor. "Our response is to American aggression. You have brought this situation upon yourself."

Elizabeth scoffed. "We shut down the consulate because you were using it as a base for intelligence operations within the United States," she said. He opened his mouth as if to deny it, but she held up one finger and silenced him. "We have left your remaining consulates and your embassy open. Now, unless you want us to impose sanctions, I suggest you reverse your plans. You have forty-eight hours. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Madam Secretary." The ambassador stood up, a little stiffly, as if he had taken a physical beating to go along with the verbal one. He straightened out his suit, gave her a curt nod, and then marched out of the room.

Elizabeth rested against her desk, clutching the edges, and letting her head fall back, she gave a long sigh.

"Tough day?"

The voice jarred through her like the shock of toothache when taking a bite of candy floss. Her gaze snapped to the door. Teresa Hurst. Just what she needed. "Madam Vice President." She forced a smile so wide that her cheeks twinged. "How can I help you?"

"Not upsetting the Russians, I trust." Teresa raised her eyebrows. And was that a glimmer of hope dancing in her eyes? Or perhaps it was just a joke, and Elizabeth was feeling snarky. Living at a rave could do that to you. "You know, if you're having difficulties over the embassy, I could always speak to President Salnikov myself. We still have a cordial relationship."

"Thanks," Elizabeth said, and she retreated behind her desk, "but I've got a handle on it." She motioned for Teresa to take a seat.

"You know, I really admire the work that you've done during your time as Secretary of State." Teresa lowered herself into her seat, one ankle tucked behind the other, and she folded her hands in her lap. _Prim and proper_. "I'd like you to know that if I were to become president—" she gave a saccharine smile that reminded Elizabeth of Sweethearts candies, and she crossed her fingers "—your position would still be open to you in my administration."

Elizabeth's whole body tensed just a fraction, but she nodded. "Good to know." Her gaze flitted to the sea of paperwork on her desk, then back to Teresa. "Was there anything I could help you with?" Or was this just a strange kind of social visit?

Teresa's smile faltered, but she fixed it within a second. "I just wanted to check in on the status of the proposals sent out to the countries in the adoption scheme."

"We haven't heard anything yet." They'd only sent out the draft proposals a few days ago. They'd likely still be sitting in an inbox somewhere, waiting for someone to click on them.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you would keep the pressure on," Teresa said. "I'm gaining support for the bill, but it will only succeed if these countries agree to the safeguards."

The safeguards that were still only in their preliminary stages and were far from being anything even resembling a signed agreement or piece of legislation.

"I understand," Elizabeth said, and she did her best to keep her tone level, "and I will follow up as soon as I've given everyone a chance to read the proposals in full." She stood up, her fingertips resting against the desk, hands arched. "The moment I hear anything, I'll let you know."

"Thank you." Teresa rose from her seat with the air of a cat being ousted from its favourite sunbathing spot. She stepped behind the chairs, but then turned and looked back at Elizabeth. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're looking a little tired. Is everything all right?"

Elizabeth's lips tweaked into the warmest smile she could muster. Positively arctic. Of course she didn't mind people commenting on how haggard she looked; why would she? It wasn't like Teresa had been the one to insist she pull an all-nighter. She gave a shrug. "Teenagers."

"Well, I guess I wouldn't know anything about that." Teresa flashed that acid smile again, and Elizabeth's mind screamed. Was there anything she could say without offending that woman? "Have a good day, Elizabeth."

"You too, Madam Vice President." Elizabeth's cheeks ached from holding the smile for so long. A 10k run would be easier than playing nice with her. As soon as the door shut, the smile dropped, she collapsed into her chair and let her forehead fall against the desk. She groaned. Why? Just: why?

* * *

The house was dark and eerily silent. What had happened to the protest music and the vitriolic break-up songs? Elizabeth pushed the door open, and tentatively—as if entering a scene from a horror movie—she stepped inside. She dragged one hand along the wall as she stumbled down the corridor. "Hello?" Her voice echoed through the hall.

"Through here," Stevie shouted back. And the _thud, thud, thud_ of Elizabeth's heart eased.

DS agents had swarmed the kitchen. They all had torches out, the beams of light flashing here and there—so the rave wasn't truly dead—scanning every inch of the walls for the reflection of a lens. Others were stood on ladders, dismantling the light fittings and smoke detectors; more still knelt at the power sockets and unscrewed them from the walls.

Elizabeth squeezed her way through to the den. The kids were sat on the couch, their backs to their father as he sat at the table. Elizabeth leant over the back of the cushions and kissed each of them in turn. Jason flinched at her touch, but didn't push her away. That was something. Elizabeth then turned to Henry. His hand found her waist as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, then mussed his hair. His gaze was a little vague, but he attempted a smile.

"This is ridiculous," Jason said as one of the agents walked through the den with a radio frequency detector. He spun round to face his father, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. "Why can't you just have the decency to tell us the truth?"

Henry's gaze dipped to the floor, and his thumb brushed up and down the edge of the book that sat on the table. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing. Perhaps he had realised that trying to defend himself against their allegations was futile.

Jason turned his gaze on Elizabeth. "What happens when they find nothing?" He nodded at Henry. "Will you believe that he's having an affair then?"

"I'm not having an affair," Henry said, his voice low and soft, barely more than a mutter.

"This check is just a precaution," Elizabeth said. As Mark Greyling had pointed out at the time; they didn't expect to find anything. "The absence of a bug isn't proof of anything."

"Then what proof do you need?"

The lights flickered back on and the electronics beeped and whirred into life. Elizabeth shielded her eyes from the glare, whilst the kids buried their faces in the cushions. Henry closed his eyelids and then pinched them, as if he had a headache coming on. Though of course this whole situation was just one massive migraine.

"Ma'am." One of the DS agents approached her, holding a clipboard. "We've checked every room and all the appliances, and as far as we can see, the house is clean—"

"See!" Jason said, and the DS agent paused. Elizabeth shot Jason a look—being angry and upset was no excuse for being rude—then she turned back to the agent.

The agent cast a wary eye over Jason before he continued. "Of course, we haven't checked any of your devices—laptops, phones, et cetera. That's up to the FBI."

Up to Jon Smythe, more like. And she already knew what his reaction would be. Elizabeth gave the agent a tight smile. "Thank you."

The agent nodded, then stepped away and followed the rest of the team as they filed out of the house, leaving behind a cavernous silence that seemed to feed on the tension in the air. Elizabeth covered Henry's hand where it rested against the table, but he didn't respond, just continued to stare through her and into some distant space, the darkness of which she couldn't even begin to imagine. For once it would have been a relief to find out that someone was spying on them, that somehow they had invaded their home just like the stalker had; at least then people might believe her when she said that her husband was innocent. But innocence was just a single voice amidst a chorus of untruths.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 **Elizabeth**

Another day, another staff meeting. Elizabeth rocked back in her chair and drummed her fingers against the armrests, the movement lacking any rhythm. The smell of coffee was overpowering, and the cloying sweetness of the doughnuts—with their pastel pink icing and lurid sugar strands—turned her stomach. She glanced up at Jay who sat across the table from her. "Any news on the Russians?"

Jay shook his head, and his mouth drew to one side; the facial equivalent of a shrug. "They've not shut down the embassy yet, but they haven't retracted their statement either. Salnikov is still spewing his anti-American rhetoric on his chat show."

"Though it's not so much anti-American as anti-me, right?" Elizabeth gave a wry smile. Salnikov's list of adjectives for her was growing larger and more imaginative by the day. How long before he added 'cuckquean' to it? In the original sense of the word, of course, though perhaps they would distort it to the modern sense too. No wonder Jason was so worried.

Kat leant forward. She clasped her hands atop her binder. "We're drawing up a list of sanctions in case they do decide to go ahead with the closure. But I'm mindful that we don't want to get into a shootout with them."

"Do you really think that they'll retaliate against our retaliation?" Matt said from his seat near the head of the table, and he gave an uneasy laugh.

"I wouldn't put it past them," Kat said. She shrugged one shoulder. "Salnikov's support is waning, and he wants to look tough. It's all very well him going on television and talking the talk, but at some point he's going to have to walk the walk."

One of the assistants scurried in with a note. She handed it to Blake, who sat at the desk in the corner, the laptop screen open in front of him. He stopped typing and stared down at the slip of paper. His eyes widened slightly, and his lips formed a kind of anxious 'O'. Elizabeth's heart sank.

"Start with moderate sanctions," she said, "but come up with some plans to hit them where it hurts too. Just in case." She looked around the table. "Is that all?" Everyone closed their files. As Blake eased to his feet, one finger in the air, Elizabeth turned to him. "What is it now?"

"It's the War College, ma'am," Blake said. Christ. Henry. What had happened? And her expression must have dropped, for Blake shook his head before she had said a word. "No, ma'am. It's your son."

* * *

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Elizabeth stormed into the security office at the War College. Jason startled and shrank back in his chair, and even the guard behind the desk flinched.

"I'll just…" the guard pointed to the door as he eased out of his seat, then he made a hasty retreat from the room, leaving Elizabeth and Jason alone in a tempestuous silence.

Elizabeth's hands found her hips as she frowned down at her son. "So you got fed up of following your father to buy milk—" guilt flashed across Jason's face and he squirmed in his seat "—and you decided you'd stalk him at work too?"

Jason stared down at his lap, finding sudden interest in the rip in his jeans.

Elizabeth pulled out the seat next to him. She leant forward and touched his knee. "Jason, your father is not having an affair. Now this needs to stop." She shook her head to herself. "Trespassing at the National War College? Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you out of here without so much as a caution?"

Jason's jaw jutted to one side. "Not as many as you're pulling to stop those photos from coming out, to keep us all bound in this lie."

Elizabeth's pulse surged. She took a deep breath. She stood up. "Right—" she gestured to the door "—this way. Now."

Jason clutched the arms of the seat. He stared up at her, all his petulance replaced with fear. But under her glare, he rose to his feet. "Where are we going?"

Elizabeth grabbed his bag from the floor and chucked it at him. Then with one hand on his shoulder, she steered him through the corridors. "You're so interested in what your father's doing all day, so come on, let's go see."

"Mom." Jason's step faltered and he dug his heels in. The officers walking past stared at them, but even they had the sense to hurry along and dive out of Elizabeth's way. "Can't we just go home?" His tone almost begged her now. "You're making a scene."

Elizabeth snorted. "Trust me, Jason, this is not me making a scene."

When they came to Henry's classroom, Elizabeth peered through the small square window set into the door. Henry was at the front of the class, resting against the desk; his hand gestures animated him as he spoke. Elizabeth rapped twice, then budged her shoulder into the door. She dragged Jason in after her.

* * *

 **Henry**

Henry stopped at the rap on the door. Before he even had a chance to say 'Come in', Elizabeth had stormed inside, their son in tow. His mouth fell open. "Um…Hi, honey."

The whole class spun around. Elizabeth flashed him a smile, breezy, as if nothing was wrong. But the fact that she had a scarlet-faced Jason—who looked like he would rather be living at the bottom of a cesspit right now—by the shoulder and that they had interrupted his class suggested that things were far from fine.

Elizabeth pointed to a desk and chair at the back of the room. She snapped at Jason. "Sit."

Henry's throat bobbed, and his mouth had turned to cotton wool. Oh God, angry Elizabeth. She had always been bad cop when it came to parenting. She said she hated it; she didn't want to be the mean one. But she did it so well. There was nothing that could cut you down quite like that tone of voice. Despite everything, he felt a pang of sympathy for their son as he sank into the seat.

Elizabeth turned back to Henry. Everyone in the class was still staring at her, but she paid them no attention. "You have a new student," she said, and Jason slumped lower and lower into the chair, as if hoping that a void might open beneath him and swallow him whole. "He was so keen to see what you're teaching today that he thought he'd scale the fence."

"Seriously?" Henry looked to Jason, but Jason's gaze was buried in his lap.

"Seriously," Elizabeth said.

"Well, that's not cool." It sounded lame, but he floundered for anything else to say.

Elizabeth's phone rang and she fumbled for it in her coat pocket. She stared down at the screen for a moment before silencing the call. "I need to get back to the office," she said, and she met his eye. "I'll see you this evening." She turned to Jason, and her glare made Japanese steel look blunt. "You, sit there and listen. _God forbid_ you actually learn something about ethics." She held her hand up to Henry, and her fingers snapped to her palm in a quick wave, then she was gone. His gaze lingered after her, his whirlwind of a wife.

The class let out a collective breath, and dissolved into low whistles and chatter. " _Man…That's his wife?_ "

"Enough, enough," Henry said, and he gestured for them to settle down. "Right, let's continue."

* * *

The bell drilled for lunch, and the students collected their belongings and filed out of the room. They shot Jason pitying looks as they passed, and Jason hid behind his arm. Henry returned the piece of chalk to the ledge under the board, then strode to the back. He perched against the edge of Jason's desk. Jason stared down at the wooden surface and refused to meet Henry's gaze.

Henry let out a long sigh. "Well, you definitely didn't inherit the spy gene." Jason's face hardened, and his pout tightened as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Jason, I love your mother more than I love anyone or anything else. And I love you, Stevie and Alison too." He shook his head. "Those images aren't real. I didn't do that. I would never do that. Not to her, not to the three of you."

Jason glared up at him, and beneath all the anger, there were hot tears threatening to fall. "Then why don't you have an alibi?"

"Because I was home alone." It was that simple. That was all it took for doubt to grow. "You have an incredible mind, Jason; this amazing capacity for critical thinking. So why can't you even begin to consider the possibility that something else might be going on?"

"I just don't buy it." Jason shrugged. "When you hear hooves, think of horses not zebras."

Henry chuckled to himself. _Someone's been talking to Will_. "Theodore Woodward. It's a derivative of Occam's Razor, though Occam certainly wasn't the first to suggest the principle."

He returned to the chalkboard and wrote up the quote as he spoke. "It was Aristotle who said ' _Nature operates in the shortest way possible_ '. And whilst the principle holds weight in scientific endeavours, life isn't so simple."

He set the chalk down, and leant against the edge of his desk, his arms folded over his chest. "I thought you out of everyone would understand that; you've always taken more than an academic interest in conspiracy theories." How many times had he pressed his mother for information in the hope of uncovering CIA plots?

"Yeah," Jason said, and he met Henry with a turbulent gaze, "but this isn't the moon landing or who shot JFK; it's you hurting my mom."

Henry's heart ached. Ached for Jason's torment, ached that his son could believe such a thing. "And you really think that me having an affair is the most credible explanation?" _Maybe Will's right; maybe you should leave._ His lip trembled. He stopped and took a deep breath. "I would give my life to protect your mother."

Jason pursed his lips and seemed to consider that for a moment, his gaze never falling from Henry's. But then he shook his head, and it was like a wall had shot up around him; every brick that Henry had just loosened was fortified. "But you're only human, and humans are walking contradictions. You can love someone and still do things to hurt them." Jason grabbed the bag from his feet, stood up and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Henry said, and he meant it. He pushed himself away from the desk, collected his own bag, and walked to the back of the room. "I have an hour before my next class. Do you want to stay and have lunch and keep an eye on me for the rest of the day, or would you like me to drop you home?"

Jason yanked open the door. "I can make my own way home."

"I don't think so." Henry followed him into the corridor. He locked the classroom before turning to Jason. "Your mother left me in charge. You have your choices, now decide."

"Fine." Jason dragged out the word and threw in an eye-roll for good measure. "Drop me home. But I'm done talking to you."

"That's fine," Henry said, though the words stung. "But know that whenever this is all over, no matter what you say and do, I forgive you."

Jason snorted. "Whatever."

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth accepted the glass of red wine from Henry and climbed up onto the end of the kitchen island. She rested her feet against the stool, the wood cool against her bare soles. The background music was quieter this evening, or perhaps she had just grown accustomed to it.

"I'm sorry about Jason." She sent Henry a glance over her shoulder. Dumping Jason in Henry's class like that probably hadn't been the best idea, but breaking into the National War College to spy on Henry had shattered any boundaries between what was reasonable and what was not.

Henry pulled a face as he poured his own glass. "Don't be." Then he replaced the stopper and set the bottle in the middle of the counter. "He's just angry and confused and hates what he thinks I did." He took a long draught and then eased himself up onto the side next to her.

"I know," Elizabeth said, "but it's still not pleasant for you."

"Who has kids because they're _pleasant_?"

Elizabeth turned to face him, a light smile playing on her lips. "Remind me why we had kids again?" She twirled the stem of the wineglass between her fingers before taking a sip.

"We thought it would be fun." Henry shrugged. "Plus your body pregnant…" he let out a low whistle.

She fought the flush of heat that rose through her cheeks. "Yeah, swollen and sweaty: so sexy." She bumped her arm against his.

"Life-giver." His gaze roamed over her; at once both scalding her and eliciting a shiver. "Incredibly sexy." His eyes locked on hers, a dark glimmer rippling through them. He set his glass down on the counter, then cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "You're beautiful."

Her gaze lowered to the wine glass in her hand, but he dipped down and caught her eye again. Then, with his thumb still stroking her cheek, he brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. She breathed him in; the trace of aftershave, the fruity tang of the wine, that slightly musty smell that reminded her of old books. And as his lips trailed down to leave hot kisses over the pulse at her throat, her eyes slipped shut, her mind swimming with everything Henry.

The phone rang. Elizabeth jumped, flung out of the haze and back into the kitchen. The wineglass tumbled from her hand and smashed against the floor. Red spattered across the wood. "Shoot." She went to jump down, but Henry caught her wrist.

"Wait. You'll cut your feet." He climbed off the side, and as if to emphasise his point, glass crunched beneath the soles of his slippers. "Come here." He beckoned her closer, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders, he lifted her down and carried her free of the shattered glass.

She eased down to the floor, but stayed close, her body flush against his. "My hero," she said through a smile, and she stretched up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. The phone rang for a second time, and she sighed. She patted him on the chest, then went to retrieve the phone from the cradle. "Hello."

"Ma'am, President Dalton and Russell Jackson are here to see you."

Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "Now?" The thud of her heart filled the pause. "Just give me a minute."

Henry looked at her expectantly as he tipped the shards from the dustpan into the bin.

"It's Conrad and Russell," she said, and his expression fell.

Elizabeth showed their guests to the living room and motioned for them to take a seat on the burgundy sofa. Henry had settled into one of the armchairs opposite, and Elizabeth joined him, perching against the armrest. Henry snaked his hand up to rest against her thigh, and she covered it with her own. It felt as though he was clinging to her for support, bracing himself for whatever was about to come, and from the grave expressions on Russell and Conrad's faces, whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Henry, the FBI have taken a look into your phone records," Russell said. He rested his elbows against his knees, hands clutched in front of him. Elizabeth's stomach sank a little lower with each word. "You received a call around five p.m.—" Elizabeth, phoning to say that she wouldn't be coming home that night "—then after that all the data switched off until midnight, when the GPS came back online…" his jaw clenched, and he shook his head ever so slightly. "The GPS places you at the hotel at the time the photographs were taken."

"What?" Henry's grip on Elizabeth's thigh tightened. "That's not possible." His voice cracked. "I wasn't there. I was at home. I wasn't there." He stared up at Elizabeth, his eyes wide and shining with fear. "Babe—"

Elizabeth gave him a gentle smile and she brushed her thumb over his knuckles. "I know." _Breathe, Henry, just breathe._ She turned back to the sofa, her gaze darting between Russell and Conrad. "Is it possible that someone was accessing the phone remotely? Cellular data doesn't just switch off."

"Unless you put it in aeroplane mode." Russell gave a half-shrug. Maybe he was just being flippant, but Henry's hand clenched into a fist beneath Elizabeth's fingers.

"So I switched off the data to get from work to the hotel then decided to switch it back on once I was there?" His tone had sharpened, as if studded with the shards of glass from the kitchen floor. "Because that makes perfect sense."

Russell raised his hands. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying, Russell?" Henry said, and he shifted forward in his seat. "You think I did this? You think I would cheat on my wife?"

"I'm just saying—" Russell's eyes flickered slightly, as if struggling to hold Henry's gaze "—that the GPS signal from your phone places you at the hotel."

Henry's jaw clenched, and the scene from the Oval Office—Henry launching himself at Jon Smythe—came to Elizabeth's mind. She slipped her hand beneath his and lifted his knuckles to her lips; he needed to calm down. Henry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gave Elizabeth a nod, as if he understood, and he rested back in his seat.

Elizabeth lowered their hands back to her lap, and she returned her gaze to Conrad and Russell. "What about GPS spoofing?" she said. They eyed her warily. "The Russians have launched attacks before, so the capability is definitely there. Hell, even video gamers know how to spoof their own GPS."

"He's not playing Pokémon Go, Mom; he's having an affair." At Jason's voice, Elizabeth spun round. Their son was stood in the doorway behind the armchairs, his brow set in a heavy frown, his arms tight across his chest.

"Jason," Elizabeth began, dragging his name out, but Jason shook his head, turned and stalked towards the kitchen. Elizabeth looked to Conrad, heat rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir. The whole situation—"

Conrad held up one hand to stop her. "It's stressful, I know." He pursed his lips for a moment before continuing, "Look, we think it's worth checking the phone for malware." His gaze turned to Henry. "Has anyone had access to your phone? Have you downloaded anything at all?"

The clock on the mantlepiece ticked away the silence. Then Henry shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, but I can't be sure." He rubbed his forehead. "I dropped it outside the house the other week, but one of the DS agents found it."

"Well, we'll get the tech team to check it over," Russell said. He extended his hand, and Henry retrieved the phone from his jeans pocket and passed it to him. "Then we'll take it from there." There was a touch of inevitability to his tone, as if he already knew the outcome. It made Elizabeth's skin bristle; whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Whilst Elizabeth walked Conrad and Russell to the door, Henry remained sat in the armchair, leant forward, his fingers steepled against his lips. The distant gaze had returned, as if he were trying to pull apart every movement he had made leading up to that night. But the problem with memory was that sometimes you needed the passage of time in order to shine a spotlight on it.

The DS agent stood on the porch jumped aside when the door opened. Russell turned back to face Elizabeth; a bitter gust of air rushed into the hallway and tumbled through the house. He held up Henry's phone. "We'll get this back to you as soon as the tech guys are finished with it."

"Thanks, Russell," she said. "Good night, sir." Though she was anything but thankful, and it certainly wasn't a good night.

* * *

The hallway vibrated with the music that blared from Jason's bedroom. Elizabeth knocked at the door, though there was no chance he would hear over that racket. When she popped her head inside, she found Jason sat on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up from the screen of his tablet, but within a second, he looked back down.

"Can you turn the music off?" Elizabeth said, but Jason remained where he was. Elizabeth sighed. She strode across the room to the docks and yanked the plug from the wall. The music cut out, and the room rang with the ensuing silence.

"I was listening to that," Jason said, but he made no move to switch it back on.

Elizabeth's hands found her hips. "And you were listening to a private conversation too." Jason's scowl deepened. Elizabeth took a deep breath, then perched on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on his knee. He flinched, but didn't push her away. His whole body was bound so tight with anger. "This behaviour has to stop, Jason. I can't have you skipping school, trespassing on government property, eavesdropping on the president."

Jason's head snapped up. His gaze burned. "I wasn't eavesdropping." He picked at the protective film that covered the screen of his tablet, loosening the corners. "I heard something smash and I thought—" His throat bobbed.

Elizabeth's chest ached. _Oh, Jason_. "Your father would never hurt me." She stroked the hair at the side of his head; just as she had done when she lulled him to sleep as a child. Her baby boy. "Has he ever given you reason to believe that he would lay a finger on me?"

"No." Jason made the concession reluctantly. He bit the inside of his cheek. "But I never thought he would have an affair either."

Elizabeth shook her head, and the ends of her hair danced over her shoulders. "He isn't—"

"Mom." Jason met her gaze. His hands stilled atop the tablet. "The photos, the lack of an alibi, now the phone…What more do you need?" And there was genuine concern in his eyes, like when you see someone in the path of an oncoming vehicle, but you're too far away to push them aside.

"It will take a lot more than that to ever convince me that your father could have done this," Elizabeth said. She squeezed Jason's hand. "I love him, Jason, and I trust him."

"Well—" Jason's lips twitched and dragged to one side "—love makes you blind."

Elizabeth let out a terse breath—what had they done to make their son so cynical, why hadn't they protected him?—and as her chin tilted down, her hair swept forward into her eyes. "I think we're going to have to agree to disagree," she said, because some battles couldn't be won in a single night. "I know that you don't want to see me hurt, and what you're doing is to protect me—" in a distorted way so reminiscent of Will "—but what I need right now is for things at home to be as normal as possible. I'd like you to go to school and to stop following your father."

Jason's jaw tensed. "I can't just pretend like nothing's happened."

"I'm not asking you to. But I am asking you to respect me." She looked into his eyes. His gaze flickered and his shoulders rose just a fraction. "Will you at least do that?"

There was a long pause, filled by the tunes drifting through from the adjacent rooms. Then Jason nodded.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand again, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. "Thank you." She stood up and leant in to press a kiss to his temple. "Good night. Try to get some sleep."

"Mom?" Jason called her back just as she reached the door. With her hand resting against the handle, she turned to face him. His expression was torn, as if debating whether to say whatever it was he had wanted to say. "Love you."

Elizabeth's chest tightened, a swell of love caught up in the bitter ache. "I love you too, baby. Night."

* * *

Elizabeth climbed under the covers and shuffled over to Henry's side of the bed. He was sat up, leant against the headboard, book propped open in his hand. She nestled against his chest, the thud of his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, and he put the book down on the bedside table and wrapped his arm around her. She was enveloped; his pulse, his scent, his warmth.

"Did you speak to him?" he asked, and his voice reverberated through her, a low hum.

"Mmhm."

"I hate that they believe this—" his grip on her arm tightened "—that anyone believes I could do that to you." The _thud, thud, thud_ quickened. "I don't know what's worse: Jason being Jason, or Stevie and Alison acting like I don't exist."

After that morning, she'd take nonexistence over spying any day. She thought about saying so, but Henry wasn't ready to make light of it yet. "Just give them time." She pressed her lips to his chest. "You'll soon be their favourite again." She craned her neck so that she could look into his eyes. "You're _my_ favourite." That earnt her a small smile.

Henry skimmed his fingertips up and down the outside of her arm; they left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She settled against his chest again. "What you said earlier about GPS spoofing…" he said. "Do you really think the Russians could be behind this?"

"What? They don't have any kompromat, so decided to make some of their own?"

His fingertips paused at her shoulder. "Yeah."

"They have the resources, and they certainly have the motive." Discrediting Elizabeth would leave the path to the presidency wide open for Teresa Hurst; she had said herself how amicable her relationship with Salnikov was. "But I don't know if Salnikov has the balls." _All talk, no walk_.

The silence lingered, haunting in a way following night after night of endless baselines. Henry's hand moved to her hair, and he stroked his fingers through the strands. "Just be careful over this thing with the embassy, won't you?"

Her eyes slipped shut, lulled by the caress. "I promise." But a moment later, her eyes shot open, and she pushed herself away from Henry, propping herself up against the pillows. "You know, Teresa Hurst stopped by my office the other day." Henry watched her, his expression impassive as he waited for what she would say next. "She said that if she becomes president, she'd keep me on as Secretary of State."

Henry scoffed. "That's a big if."

Elizabeth's gaze fell to the covers. She smoothed her hand over the woollen blanket. "Maybe…" She stopped. Henry tucked the hair that had fallen in a veil across her face behind her ear. His hand lingered, cupping her jaw and drawing her eyes back to his. They were filled with such warmth and love and tenderness that her heart ached. She couldn't let anyone else see those photos; couldn't bear for this lie to become a public truth. "Maybe I should take her up on the offer, officially announce that I won't run for the presidency. Maybe then this will all go away."

Henry's gaze hardened, and he shook his head. "Babe, you can't do that. You can't give up."

"What if we don't have another choice?" Everything inside her sank, dragged down by the weight of the very real choice: her husband or her career.

"We'll find a way," Henry said. "You always find a way."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 **Elizabeth**

"The Russians still aren't backing down, ma'am." The elevator door opened on the seventh floor to reveal Jay, Kat, Blake and—more concerningly—Daisy. Whoever said ' _No news is good news_ ' certainly knew what they were talking about.

Elizabeth took the coffee cup from Blake and cradled it in both hands; the warmth that seeped through the paper was welcome after the chill outside. She looked to Jay. "When you say they're not backing down…"

Kat tapped the screen of her tablet and thrust it in front of Elizabeth as they strode through the corridors towards her office. "Glasses," Elizabeth said to herself, and she passed the coffee back to Blake whilst she rooted around in her bag. She pushed the frames up the bridge of her nose and took the tablet from Kat. Their procession continued.

On screen, President Salnikov's gesticulations were wilder than ever. He made a person fighting off a swarm of killer bees look positively serene. Even the smiles of the mannequin presenters faltered a little as he launched into a particularly ferocious tirade, and the two blondes shrank back from their desk. Elizabeth handed the tablet back to Kat and pushed her glasses down a fraction so that she could pinch her eyes. Why couldn't this all just be some kind of bad dream? Perhaps Henry's Kafka references weren't so obscure after all.

"Salnikov is now claiming that our embassy in Moscow is rife with American operatives under diplomatic covers," Jay said, as they entered her office.

"So, projecting then?" Elizabeth shrugged off her coat and scarf, and Blake whisked them away before she had even realised he was at her side. She retreated to her desk and leant against the edge, whilst Kat and Daisy took the seats in front of her and Jay hovered behind them. "Do we have any operatives at the embassy? Do we need to think about getting them out?"

"I'll liaise with the CIA," Jay said. He tapped his fingers against the back of clipboard that he clutched in his hands, then turned and strode towards the door.

Elizabeth called after him. "And if they start getting awkward, kick them over to me."

Jay gave a slight bow. "Yes, ma'am."

"Kat," Elizabeth said, and Kat sat up a little straighter, like a student called upon in class, "have you drawn up that list of sanctions? I think it's time that I spoke to Minister Avdonin."

"Ma'am." Daisy held up one finger. A startled expression had leapt to her face. "If I may…" Elizabeth nodded. "Whilst I understand that it's important that we're not seen to be neglecting this issue, it would be remiss of me not to advise you against provoking the Russians."

Elizabeth's head swam with the tortuous phrasing and abundance of negatives. Even Kat had shot Daisy a skeptical look. Elizabeth raised her hand before Daisy could continue leading them through the forest of words. "Spit it out, Daisy."

"I…uh…It's just…" Daisy smoothed down the hem of her dress, then clung to her knees. "Salnikov has already made this issue personal, that much is clear from his chat show, and I'm concerned that if we impose sanctions, he might make it even more… _personal_." Daisy's eyes bugged at the final word.

 _The photos_. So Daisy thought the Russians might be behind it too. Elizabeth rocked back onto her heels, her gaze fixed on the floor. But if it was the Russians, why hadn't they released the photos already? It wasn't like them to show restraint. Even if Salnikov didn't have the balls to release them himself, the GRU could easily disseminate the pictures to the American press and the media would do the job for him. _Be careful over this thing with the embassy, won't you?_ Henry's words looped through her mind, and the promise she had made him. This wasn't just her career; it was his reputation, his life.

"Ma'am?" Kat said. Elizabeth looked up to see their expectant, and slightly concerned, faces. How long had she been silent for?

"Blake," Elizabeth said, "set up the call with Minister Avdonin." Then she nodded at Daisy. "We'll hold off on the sanctions for now."

* * *

"Minister Avdonin." Elizabeth leant back in her chair as she addressed the screen.

Minister Avdonin sat a little too close to the camera, and he shifted in his seat as he spoke to her. "Madam Secretary. I have a very busy schedule—"

"Then let's get straight to the point." She steepled her hands. "Your closure of our embassy is unwarranted. Spies? Seriously?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Couldn't President Salnikov come up with something more original?"

"You closed down our consulate."

Elizabeth's tone sharpened. "Because you were using it as a base for intelligence operations." She let out a sharp breath. When Alison and Jason bickered, they sounded less childish than Avdonin did right now. "Look, we've gone through this countless times, and I'm getting fed up of having the same old conversation, so what's it going to take to get Salnikov to back down?" She leant forward now, her eyes trained on his expression.

Avdonin's gaze darted away from the camera, sweeping over his surroundings before returning to her. He edged forward in his seat and leant his elbows against his desk. "Off the record?" One eyebrow arched.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Sure."

He rocked back in his chair again, his shoulders opening up as his hands fell to the armrests. He looked like he had doubts about whatever it was that he was about to say, but he continued anyway, his words considered. "He needs to prove to the generals that he's strong. The closure of the consulate made him look weak."

"And attacking me every night on his chat show isn't quite cutting it?" Elizabeth said. Avdonin's mouth puckered at that, a flash of disapproval.

"The people want action," Avdonin said, every word heavy with emphasis. "The generals want action. By going on and on about it, he's made his own noose."

"Then how do we talk him down?"

Avdonin leant in towards the camera, the words clear on his lips. "Reopen the consulate."

"I can't do that," Elizabeth said, and she shook her head, "not when it's a risk to national security."

Avdonin's gaze flitted away, and a silence stretched between them. It was almost at breaking point when he looked to her again. "What if I could ensure it wasn't?" His voice was softer now, as if worried that the ears had walls, which perhaps wasn't such an unreasonable concern.

"I would have a hard time believing that," Elizabeth said.

Avdonin picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk, his gaze following its rise and fall. _Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap._ "What if I granted you access to monitor the consulate? This would be strictly confidential, of course. As far as the public are aware, everything is operating as normal."

A smile threatened to tug at Elizabeth's lips, but she crushed it and kept her face neutral. "I might be able to work with that."

"Good." The pen stilled, and Avdonin's finger hovered over the keyboard. "You'll speak to your people and let me know?"

He was about to hit end on the call, but Elizabeth held one hand up, and he paused. "Konstantin," she said, and she steeled her gaze on him, ready to catch the barest flicker of a reaction, "you know that anyone else in my position would have sanctioned you back to the Stone Age by now." Hell, she would have if it weren't for the photos hanging over her.

Avdonin frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone has made a threat against my family."

"Well, it wasn't Russia." And there wasn't so much as a stutter in either his voice or his expression. "We don't make threats."

 _No, you just carry them out._ She nodded. "Good day, Konstantin."

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth leant her elbows against the desk and pinched her mouth. Either Avdonin hadn't been read in on this nugget of kompromat, or it truly wasn't the Russians. But if not them, who?

* * *

"I'm home," Elizabeth shouted. Voices and laughter drifted through the house, along with the smell of hot oil and the sizzle of food frying. Stevie was stood at the hob, tossing vegetables in the wok, whilst Alison and Jason were strewn across the couches in the den. Some gameshow flashed in the background. With lurid lights and a buzzer blaring every few seconds, it still had more taste than Salnikov's talk show.

Stevie smiled up at her. "Hey."

"Hey, baby," Elizabeth said, and she leant over the pan. "That smells good." And her stomach grumbled. Tofu, fake meat; she didn't care.

"It'll be ready in five."

Elizabeth peered around the room, and then through to the dining room. All the lights were switched off and the rest of the house had already succumbed to the darkness that leached in from the evening outside.

Stevie caught her eye. She pursed her lips, then nodded to the stairs. "He's up there."

Elizabeth smiled. Was she that obvious? "Is _he_ allowed a plate?"

Stevie shrugged. "I don't want any wasted."

 _How gracious_. "Thank you." She touched Stevie's elbow as she squeezed past and headed for the stairs.

She leant in the doorway of their bedroom. Henry was sat on the bed, his back against the headboard, a book open in one hand. The television screen was on—the news—but the volume was at barely a whisper. "Hey, you," she said, and Henry's gaze darted up.

"Hey." He smiled back at her and placed his book down on the bed. "The kids needed to get out of their rooms—" she was surprised they weren't pacing like caged animals "—and since they can't stand the sight of me, I thought they'd be more comfortable if I stayed up here."

He was trying to make light of it, but the hurt was clear in his eyes. Elizabeth's smile faded a little, and her chest ached for him. "You don't have to do that." She shook her head. "You shouldn't have to sit up here on your own."

"I'm fine, babe." He forced his smile a little wider. Then he nodded to the television. "I saw the news about the consulate." He paused a beat. His expression sobered. "They didn't threaten you, did they?"

"No." Elizabeth's gaze dipped to the floor. Should she tell him that she didn't think it was the Russians, or would that only add to his worries? Better the devil you know. She met his eye again. "They were looking for a way to back down, so we came to an agreement." She stretched out her hand to him. "Come get some dinner? Stevie very kindly said that you can have some."

"Is it poisoned?" He paused a beat, then flashed her a smile. "I'm fine up here—" she opened her mouth to protest, but he continued "—really, babe; I don't want to make things awkward."

"Then I'll stay up here with you." She eased away from the door and took a step closer to the bed. But stopped when Henry waved her back.

"Go spend time with the kids. I can tell you miss them, and God knows they could use someone to talk to."

And she did miss them; missed the time they spent together as a family. She hesitated. "You sure?" Henry nodded. "Okay then." She strode the rest of the way to the bed, then with her hand resting over his heart, she leant in and kissed him. She drew back just enough that she could look into his eyes. "But if you're up for dessert later…"

"There's ice cream—" he began, but then she bit her bottom lip, and his eye widened, pupils blown. "Oh." His throat bobbed. "I could definitely go for some dessert."

"Good," she said, and she pinged the collar of his tee. "I'll see you in a bit."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 **Elizabeth**

A few days later, and the dining room was silent, except for the clink of the cutlery against the plates and the occasional clunk as someone set down their glass on the table. The kids kept their gazes fixed on their dishes, as if spaghetti were the most fascinating thing in the world—anything to avoid looking at their father who sat at the opposite end of the table. Elizabeth smiled across at Henry, but he only managed the faintest twinge in response.

The phone rang, and Stevie jumped up from her chair. She strode through to the kitchen, and Jason and Alison watched her with a certain envy, as though wishing that they had an excuse to leave too. Henry stopped eating and rested his cutlery against the edge of his plate. He took a swig from his glass of red wine, then raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth, gesturing behind her.

"It's the Director of the FBI," Stevie said. Elizabeth dabbed the tomato sauce from the corners of her mouth as she turned around in her chair. She extended her hand for the phone, but Stevie's gaze darted to the front door. "No. He's outside."

Elizabeth hauled open the front door, and fixed her face with a smile so fake it would make a clown look sincere. "Good evening, Jon." She directed him towards their study. Henry joined them, and the air bristled.

Elizabeth perched against the edge of the desk, whilst Henry took a seat in the chair behind. Jon reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a phone. He handed it to Elizabeth. She stared down at it, then back to Jon, her pulse quickening. Henry's phone.

"It came back clean," Jon said. And there was the trace of that smug smile again, as if he was taking some kind of delight in their situation. "The tech team have taken a thorough look at it, but there's no evidence of tampering."

Henry leant forward in his seat, and Elizabeth edged a little closer along the desk, just in case she had to intervene again. "But there must be something," Henry said. "Someone interfered with the cellular data and managed to fake the GPS."

"What can I say?" Jon said with a shrug. Then he pushed his wiry glasses back into place as they slipped down.

Elizabeth rubbed her forehead as a kind of nausea swirled at the pit of her stomach. There had to be an answer, some kind of lead, something to prove Henry was innocent. "What about self-deleting malware? There's been a spate of attacks across Europe—"

"Madam Secretary—" Jon took a sharp inhalation of breath, then sighed it out. God, he was relishing this. "—I know that you want to believe that something untoward is going on, but the only solid evidence we have is the photos and the GPS placing your husband at the hotel, and that's a scenario that you're just plain unwilling to accept."

Elizabeth's jaw clenched. And it might be Henry having to stop _her_ from hitting the director in a minute. "Because it's not the truth."

"You're clutching at straws," Jon said. "Look, the FBI have indulged you enough already. Perhaps it's time you start looking for an explanation a little closer to home." His gaze darted to Henry and then back again. "Good night, Madam Secretary." He turned and left.

"What do we do now?" Henry's voice broke the silence long after the front door had closed.

Elizabeth stared at the floor. She swallowed. "I don't know." The photographs, the phone placing Henry at the hotel, no alibi, no evidence of any foul play…the facts as they stood whirled through her mind. If only she had come home that evening, if only…

"Hey." Henry found her hand where it rested against the desk, and he tugged her towards him, but she shook herself free. He looked up at her, his face ridged with concern. "Elizabeth?"

"I need some space," she said, and she pushed herself away from the desk and retreated to the window seat. "I need to think." A draught cut through the windows, and the net curtains billowed. She drew her cardigan tighter around herself, but the chill still shivered over her skin.

"Okay," Henry said, but he sounded anything other than okay. And a few moments later, the steady pad of his footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

 _Trust no one, Bess; the minute you do, you're flying blind_. But she had trusted Henry. He was the exception to the rule, to every rule she had followed before she met him. _Don't fall in love. Don't get too close. Don't depend on anyone but yourself._ Wise words for an empty life. There had to be a solution. Or maybe she had already found the solution, but love had left her blind.

* * *

 **Stevie**

The bedside clock ticked over from 23:59 to 00:00. A new day, same problems. Stevie threw back the covers and tiptoed across the room to the door. The corridor outside was silent, but faint laughter like a bell chiming in the distance drifted up the stairs. She crept down. The lamp was still lit in her parents' study. The television was on in the den, and Alison and Jason were curled up on either end of the sofa. The last step of the stairs creaked, and Alison and Jason twisted round.

"Can't sleep either?" Alison asked. She hugged a cushion to her chest.

Stevie shook her head. Alison lifted up the blanket—woollen and musty and warm—and Stevie climbed underneath, nestling in the middle between her siblings. "What are we watching?"

"Some old sitcom," Alison said. Her gaze drifted back to the screen. In the shadows, the circles beneath her eyes hung darker, as stark as any bruise. "I have no idea what's going on, I just can't stand the silence."

Silence meant thoughts. Thoughts meant doubts. Doubts meant fears.

"Is Mom still awake?" Jason asked. He was hugging a cushion too.

"The light's on in their study," Stevie said. "Didn't she go up?"

Jason shook his head, and his lips bunched to one side. "She's been in there since the FBI guy left. Didn't even bother to finish dinner." Though none of them had, not after they had overheard the news.

"I can't get my head around it," Alison said. Her voice was soft, and in the light from the screen, a sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. "I never thought that Dad would cheat."

"Nor did I," Jason said.

Stevie pursed her lips and stopped the lie: _Nor did I_. Because she had. She had believed it, back when she saw her father in that coffee shop, back when she had phoned up the archives. But her mother had insisted then that it was a misunderstanding, and she had believed her, because she so desperately didn't want it to be true.

"But would he keep up the lie for this long?" Alison asked.

"Maybe." Stevie shrugged. "If he thought he could get away with it."

"The problem is," Jason said, "when they lie for their jobs, it's hard to know when they're telling the truth." And that was the rub—in their family, there had always been two versions of the truth. How were they meant to know which one to believe?

"Do you think Mom still believes him?" Alison asked, and she clung tighter to the cushion, resting her chin on top. She looked like a little girl again, asking if their mother would ever come home.

"She was looking up self-deleting malware earlier," Jason said. And he gave a soft snort. "Either she does believe him, or she's trying her best to convince herself."

"Do either of you believe him?" Stevie asked.

The question expanded into the darkness, adding depth to the chill in the air. It shivered through them, and their gazes fell away from one another. Then the three of them turned back to the screen, turned back to their thoughts, their doubts, their fears, and they let the room fill with the jarring sound of canned laughter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth snatched her phone from the bedside table the moment it started to buzz. She propped herself up on one elbow and peered blearily at the screen. Russell Jackson. "Hello?" She eased the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The chill in the air tingled between her toes.

"Elizabeth. Come to the White House now." A pause. "Alone."

The word 'alone' swept through her mind like a gust of winter and cleared the billows of fog that had settled over night. She glanced over her shoulder. Henry was lying on his side, his back to her, the duvet swaddling him like a cocoon. He gave a soft sigh and snuggled deeper into their bed.

"I'm on my way." She hung up and tossed the phone onto the comforter. She washed and dressed, all the while her heart was pounding, resounding that ominous word 'alone'.

* * *

"Bess, take a seat." Conrad motioned to the sofa nearest the door in the Oval Office, then he folded his arms over his chest. He was stood in front of his desk, whilst Russell and the FBI Director were sat on the far couch.

Elizabeth lowered herself down onto the cushion, her heart thudding against her ribs. Her gaze flitted over each of them in turn. "What's this about?" she said, though from their grave faces and the fact that Russell had told her to come without Henry, part of her already knew.

Russell leant forward in his seat, his hands clasped in front of him. His gaze settled on the coffee table for a long while before rising to meet her eye. And God, there was pity there. "An employee at the hotel has come forward. He says that he served Henry and the woman in the bar, and that he saw them going up to the room."

Elizabeth's chest clenched so tight it felt as though her heart had stopped. She opened her mouth, but there were no words in her mind let alone on her tongue. How could someone say that? How, when Henry was at home? "Have you checked the security footage?" She clutched her knees, palms sweaty against the denim of her jeans. "What…what about bribes?"

The three men shared a look. God, they thought she was crazy. Was she crazy?

Jon offered her a smile, a jarring mix of self-satisfaction and sympathy. "Elizabeth—"

"Madam Secretary," Elizabeth said.

Jon paused a moment, mouth open, then continued, "Madam Secretary, you're not the first woman to be duped by a philandering husband, and you certainly won't be the last. I think it's time that we drew a line under this whole…"

"Affair?" Elizabeth said, because that's what he was going to say. His lips pursed as if trying to contain his amusement at his own little pun. "My husband isn't a philander," she said, but the conviction in her voice had gone. She looked to Conrad; one arm was still crossed over his chest, but the other had risen to rest a finger over his lips. Others might call it his 'indecisive' look, but to her it was the look that he wore when he had already made the difficult decision. "We need to do something, we need to prove that Henry didn't do this."

Conrad studied her for a moment, then looked to Jon. Jon nodded, stood up and left. Conrad settled into the empty seat. Hours could have passed in the minute that it took him to meet her eye. "Bess—" he shook his head "—I never thought that Henry was capable of this, but then again, I never thought Munsey and Juliet were capable of orchestrating a coup in Iran."

The sickening feeling wrenched at the bottom of her stomach. "You think Henry did this?" Her gaze darted between Conrad and Russell. And their faces said what their mouths wouldn't.

"Bess," Russell began, and the way he dragged out her name made her stomach twist even tighter. "If this were a court of law, no jury would say there was reasonable enough doubt to acquit him—"

"Because we haven't looked hard enough. We haven't—"

"But what we're talking about is the court of public opinion." Russell raised his voice to speak over her, and something in his eyes hardened. "The public are far quicker to judge and don't need half as much evidence to believe that something's real."

Elizabeth swallowed, and her throat stuck. "So, what are you saying?"

"It's time that we start thinking about damage limitation," Russell said. His gaze dipped as he sighed out a long breath. "The pictures haven't leaked yet, but given the note that came with them, it's reasonable to assume that whoever has copies will release them if you do make it clear that you intend to run."

"But they're fake."

"That's immaterial." Russell shook his head. Frustration? Disapproval? She couldn't tell anymore. "If those pictures come out, people won't care what's real or not, but I promise you this, it will dent your career and ruin any chances you have for the presidency. Infidelity never plays well—for either side. But…if you leave him now, there's enough time for this to all blow over before you announce."

Elizabeth's head swam. "Leave him?"

"Those pictures are leverage," Russell said. "The only way to get rid of that leverage is to take control of the narrative." He made a gesture with his hands, as if spinning the air into yarn. "You found out your husband was having an affair, you pulled yourself together and you divorced him." His hands stopped.

"But he isn't—"

"That doesn't matter!" Russell's voice rocketed, and Elizabeth flinched. "What part of this don't you get? It's not about truth, politics isn't about truth; it's about optics."

Elizabeth clutched her hands in her lap, and she leant forward until her body was almost folded over on itself. Winded. "So, you're saying the only way to spin this is to publicly accuse my husband of something he hasn't done, leave him, tear apart my family…" She shook her head, and the stripes on the wall lurched, as if she were stuck inside a zoetrope. "There has to be another way."

Russell looked to Conrad, and Conrad gave the slightest of nods. Russell turned back to her. "You can negate the leverage all together."

"How?" Elizabeth's heart pounded.

Russell shrugged. "Quit."

* * *

The breaks creaked as the car pulled to a stop outside the house. One of the DS agents opened the door for Elizabeth, and she climbed out and offered him a weak smile. "Thanks…" but his name escaped her, she and Henry just called him 'the new guy'.

It was midmorning, but the sunlight was weak, and there was a bite to the air. Elizabeth hugged her cardigan around her and hid her hands in the sleeves. She had made it halfway to the porch when she stopped.

"Ma'am?" The new guy had been following her. "Everything okay?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth said softly, more to herself than to him, and she shook her head.

The front door opened, and there was Henry; wearing jeans, a storm grey pullover, and a warm smile. His smile faded when he saw her face though. He pulled the door to behind him and stepped out onto the path. "Babe, what's wrong?"

Someone said they saw you taking that woman up to a hotel room. The words were there but she couldn't bring herself to say them. "Henry." She swallowed, her throat thick. She forced herself to meet his eye. "Did you go to that hotel? Did you meet that woman? Did you have an affair?"

"No, no and no," Henry said. He took hold of her upper arms and stared down into her eyes. His own eyes held so much fear and hurt and love, but more than that, truth. He had lied to her in the past, small things, and she had always known. Surely she would know this time too.

"Okay," she said. She gave a firm nod. "I'm going to quit."

"Wait…what?"

She told him about the meeting, about what Russell had said. _Leverage, optics, controlling the narrative_. "When it comes down to it, unless I can prove that you didn't do this, unless I can get rid of those pictures, I only have one choice: divorce you, or quit."

Henry clutched her arms. He shook his head, so adamant. "You don't have to quit."

"Henry…" His name dragged into a sigh. "It's just a matter of time." She held onto his waist, but for once his warmth brought no comfort. "Right now it's about the election, but next it will be one of my policies. So long as those pictures are out there, I'm under someone's thumb. And if—" she shook her head and her hair fell into her face "—when they come out, my career will be over anyway."

Henry's jaw clenched, and the muscles twitched. He looked past her for a long moment before locking his eyes on hers. His throat bobbed. His eyes glistened. "Then I'll leave." His hands fell away from her arms, and the air grew bitter without his touch.

 _Oh, Henry_. Elizabeth's heart sank, and her grip on his waist tightened. "And how will that help?"

"Your career will be safe," Henry said, "even if the pictures come out. Leverage gone." His mouth drew into a tight pout, decision made.

"But then I won't have you," Elizabeth said. She stepped closer, bringing her body flush to his, and as she stroked the hair at the side of his head, she peered up into his eyes. "Don't you get it? I love my job, but no where near as much as I love you." She rested her forehead against his chest and breathed in the scent of home. "Remember what I said when I started this job? _I'll quit in a heartbeat if anything comes between us, if anything threatens what we have_." And there they were. No more Madam Secretary. Certainly never Madam President. Just Henry and Elizabeth.

"You don't have to," Henry said, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Yes," she said, and she lifted her head from his chest, "I do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 **Elizabeth**

"Elizabeth." Teresa smiled at her from the doorway, even more saccharine than usual. Cotton candy dipped in syrup.

"Madam Vice President, come in." Elizabeth gathered her files from her desk and motioned for Teresa to take a seat on the sofa. She spread the documents out on the coffee table. "I've heard back about our proposals for the safeguards regarding the international adoption programme."

"So I see," Teresa said, her eyebrows arched. She sat down on the edge of the cushion and peered over the array of paperwork. Then her gaze turned back to Elizabeth as Elizabeth sank into the seat beside her. "You look a little frazzled. Everything all right, I hope?"

Elizabeth's lips tugged into a tight smile. "I've a lot going on."

Teresa reached out as if to lay a hand on Elizabeth's arm, but she must have thought better of it, for her hand made a hasty retreat to the cushion between them. "Anything I can help with."

Elizabeth shook her head, and her smile faded. "Just personal stuff. Actually—" Best bite the bullet "—I'm resigning as Secretary of State."

"Oh no," Teresa said, a touch too quickly, a fraction too bright. "I'm sorry to hear that." This time her hand made it to Elizabeth's arm, providing a fleeting touch and no comfort. "I had been hoping that you would stay on. Though, I have to say, I've always admired that you put your family before your career." She shook her head to herself, and that sweet smile lingered like icing sugar on her lips. "Some women are so work-focussed that they completely neglect their home lives, until of course, everything falls apart."

Elizabeth nodded, her face passive. But inside, something was niggling. It was the same feeling she used to have at the CIA, when something wasn't quite right, but she couldn't put a finger on it. Others would say she was obsessing, looking too hard for something that wasn't there. But she'd never been wrong; it just took a little thought and some patience as her mind turned things over. She had said 'personal stuff', but she hadn't mentioned her family. Of course, it was a reasonable assumption that 'personal' meant 'family', but was it reasonable for someone whose mind wasn't geared towards family, someone who had never hesitated to point out their lack of family? And there was something about the phrase 'put your family before your career' too—it echoed her conversation with Henry, about putting him above everything else. _I love my job, but no where near as much as I love you._

Elizabeth continued with the meeting, talking Teresa through the changes and stipulations that the participating countries had requested, but all the while her mind was turning, churning the facts and suspicions until they thickened, until there was enough there to grasp.

As soon as Teresa had gone, Elizabeth picked up the phone and dialled Henry's number. "Hey." She hesitated. Her pulse quickened, and a cool sweat spread over her skin. What if the phone was bugged? They had swept the house, but not her office. "Are you…um…free for _dessert_?"

* * *

"Hey, babe." Henry gave her a broad smile. She held one finger up to her lips, crossed the room and dragged him into the washroom. She pulled the door shut behind him and switched on the tap. The roar of the water filled the room. Henry frowned at her. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't about dessert?"

"This is totally crazy," Elizabeth said, and had there been room to move in there, she would have been pacing, "but I think it might be Teresa Hurst."

"What?" Henry's frown deepened, utter confusion. She might as well have told him that she was joining the circus.

"The pictures," Elizabeth said, and his frown eased a little, though not much. "She said something to me earlier on, and it was like she knew what I had said the other day on the porch, about you being more important to me than my career. It made me think…what if she's behind it. What if she's set this all up because she knew that you were the one person I'd quit for?"

Henry's lips pulled to one side. "Still sounding a little crazy," he said. He folded his arms across his chest. "Talk me through it."

"The night that the pictures were taken, you were going to be the only one in the house."

"Because she said you had to work late."

"And the only person on the door at home was that new DS agent," Elizabeth said, "the same one who was there when we spoke on the porch the other day." He could have failed to record Henry arriving or could have deleted the entry from the security log, and he could have easily reported their conversation to Teresa Hurst. That's why her reaction was so quick when Elizabeth said she was quitting; she already knew.

"And when I dropped my phone that time," Henry said, and something in his eyes brightened, a dawning of hideous realisation, "I'm pretty sure he was the one who brought it back to me. He could have installed the malware then." So someone could have listened in to their private calls, would have known their plans, and would have been able to interfere with the cellular data and GPS.

"And he was the agent on the door the night that Russell took your phone." The image of him jumping aside as Conrad and Russell stepped out onto the porch flitted through Elizabeth's mind.

"So he could have activated a self-destruct code before the FBI had a chance to analyse it," Henry said. Perhaps her self-deleting malware idea wasn't so _out there_ after all. Henry paused. "But what about the photos?"

Elizabeth's gaze fell to the floor as she retreated into her thoughts. No piece of information was useless, it was just a case of finding the right way to utilise it. Her gaze snapped back up to Henry's. "Teresa told me that she has a nephew working out in Silicon Valley. He'd certainly have the contacts if not the expertise."

Henry nodded, but his jaw was clenched. "And what about the barman at the hotel?"

"They never checked him for bribes," Elizabeth said. Because they all thought she was crazy, but things were about to get a hell of a lot crazier. She took hold of Henry's hands and gripped them as tight as she would a lifebelt if she were thrown into stormy seas. "Henry, if you don't talk me down from this, I'm going to go to the president and accuse the vice president of all kinds of corruption." She winced. "Now would be a really, really good time to tell me that I'm out of my mind."

Henry squeezed her hands. "I think we need to speak to Conrad."

Elizabeth's chest tighten and sank all at once. "They're going to want proof."

* * *

Elizabeth was sat in the window of their study. Beyond the veil of the net curtains, the sky was darkening, a pervasive gloom hanging heavy over their home. She rubbed at her eyes, smudging her mascara and eyeliner. Then she wiped her palms down against her jeans, and rid them of the clammy sweat that had taken hold.

Henry stepped onto the path outside the house. Her stomach fluttered. It was time.

She jumped down from her perch and strode towards the front door. Henry's bag was waiting just inside the entrance. She picked it up, her whole body sagging with its weight, then she wrenched the door open. The DS agent—the new guy—who was stood just outside flinched, then he glanced back over his shoulder and nodded to her. "Ma'am."

Elizabeth gave him a grim look and stepped out onto the path. Henry smiled up at her, but as he studied her face, his expression faltered and drew into a worried frown. Then his gaze fell to the bag in her hand, and all trace of the smile was gone.

"Elizabeth?" Henry stopped on the path, no more than a metre between them. "What's going on?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath—the air was choked with exhaust fumes—and then she let it tremble out through her lips. "I can't…" She shook her head to herself and her gaze drifted away from his. "I can't do this anymore, Henry."

Henry's throat bobbed. "Wh…what do you mean?"

"I keep turning it over in my mind…the photos, the excuses, _the witness_ …" She laughed at herself, a bitter chuckle. They had all said she was foolish for believing him, they had all known from the start where the investigation would lead. She massaged her temples. "I can't live like this, Henry. I can't live with this doubt gnawing away at me."

"But—" Henry's mouth opened and closed, a slight quiver in his bottom lip. "I don't understand."

She dropped the bag to the floor and pushed it towards him. "I'll have Blake let you know when you can collect the rest of your things."

"Collect my things?" Henry toed the bag aside and stepped towards her. "What are you talking about?" He reached for her hand.

But she recoiled and balled her fists in to her chest. "I want you to leave."

Henry froze. Tears glistened in his eyes. "But I didn't do anything. I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter anymore." Her own tears welled up and reduced the evening to a blur. She swiped them away with the back of her hand. "Can't you see? I don't trust you."

Tears rolled down Henry's cheeks. One, two, three. Then they fell too swiftly to count. His hands hung empty by his sides. "I love you, Elizabeth. Don't do this—" then he strode forward, and before she had time to react, he gripped her waist.

She tried to push him off. "Stop it, Henry."

But he clung to her. "I love you." And he stared down into her eyes, as though searching for a spark—any glimmer of love that he could nurture.

Elizabeth prised his fingers from her waist. "If you love me, if you truly love me, you'll go."

Henry looked as though he had been punched in the stomach. In the background, cars sailed by, their engines whirring and dying away. Henry's jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "No. I'm not going, not until you see that you're making a mistake." He stepped towards her again, and the heat surged off his body and rushed over her. "I didn't do this." He gripped her arms, then ran his palms up and down, up and down, causing goose pimples to prickle beneath his touch. "I love you, Elizabeth." And that love shone through the hardness of his gaze. "I would never do this. I love you." Then one hand came up to tangle through her hair and pull her closer.

"Stop," she whispered, but he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She pushed him away again. His heart pounded beneath her palms. "I said: stop! Don't make a scene." The kids were inside, hopefully still sheltering in the den, and her security agents were all around them. With the way that they looked beyond her with their unseeing gazes, it was easy to forget that they took in everything.

"I'm your husband, Elizabeth." He held onto her shoulders. "Your husband." A word laden with meaning.

Elizabeth shrugged him off. Her gaze flitted down to the ground, before she steeled herself and met his eye. She swallowed, ridding her voice of the clag of emotion. "You're a liability."

He frowned at her. Realisation dawned. He shook his head. "You can't be serious. You can't…"

But she nodded. She could. She was. It all came down to this. "I'm divorcing you, Henry." As Henry stood staring at her, mouth open, frozen to the spot, she retreated into the house. She shot him a glance over her shoulder—"Goodbye, Henry."—then she shut the door.

* * *

 **Henry**

Henry threw the bag into the backseat of the car. He made it only one street along before he had to pull over. Hot tears clouded his vision, and every breath shuddered through his chest. It was silly. He shook his head to himself. It wasn't real. He tried to force a chuckle, but it turned into a snivel. He bit down on his knuckle and closed his eyes. _Can't you see? I don't trust you…I'm divorcing you, Henry_. And the pressure surged in his chest until he couldn't hold it any more. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his whole body convulsed with the force of each sob. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth pushed open the door to the Situation Room. The lights were dimmed and the heating system whistled in the background. Conrad was sat at the head of the table, with Russell on his right. Ephraim Ware stood to the left of the screen, headset on, whilst the footage of her house still played in realtime. FBI Director Jon Smythe had taken the seat near the middle of the table, and was bouncing a pen against his notepad; the Director of the DSS, Mark Greyling, was sat at his side. And then there was Henry, leant back in the chair on Conrad's left, nearest the door. All heads turned to her as she entered. Henry swivelled his seat around.

Mark frowned at Elizabeth, his eyebrows dipping low, and then back to the screen. "How'd you…? Your motorcade is still outside your house."

Elizabeth smirked. So much for rigorous training. "What? You thought I wouldn't be able to give your agents the slip?"

Henry's gaze clung to her. His eyes were puffy and still damp from tears. A pang of guilt struck her. It was meant to look real, but perhaps it had been a little too real. He reached out for her, and as she slipped her fingers into his, he squeezed so tight it felt like he might never let go. She braced herself against the chair, then leant in and kissed him, letting it linger as she sucked gently on his lower lip. _This_ was real. When she pulled away, she nuzzled her nose against his and whispered, "I love you. You hear me? I love you." And he nodded against her.

"That was quite the performance, Bess," Conrad said, and his gaze flitted between her and her husband. "Let's just hope it pays off."

"Has there been any activity yet?" Elizabeth asked. Henry pivoted back to the screen, and Elizabeth stood behind him. She slid her hands over his shoulders, down to his chest, and let them rest there, relishing his warmth.

"Not yet," said Ephraim. "We have eyes on your house." He tapped the laptop and the screen split to show Number One Observatory Circle. "And our agents are watching the Vice President too. We're still waiting for DS Agent Grant—" _the new guy_ "—to finish his shift."

The final dregs of daylight faded into darkness, each second punctuated by the _tap, tap, tap_ of Jon's pen against the notepad. He sent Elizabeth the occasional look, not even bothering to veil his disdain as she held tight to her husband.

Elizabeth's legs started to ache, and then turn numb, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Henry glanced up at her and offered her a taut smile. He looked worried too. Was his mind churning through the same thoughts? What if she was wrong? What if she had made a huge mistake? What if the real culprit was out there, ready to release the photos at any minute?

"DS Agent Grant is on the move." Ephraim's voice brought her back to the room. One of her regular DS agents had taken Agent Grant's place, and Agent Grant was striding away from the house and along the street. The footage jolted as the FBI agents followed at a distance.

"He's probably just walking home," Jon said.

"Wait and see," Elizabeth said, though the thought niggled.

A couple of streets away, Agent Grant stopped to tie his shoelace, but as he knelt down, his hand snuck beneath the hedgerow that provided a barrier between the houses and the street beyond. He rooted through the earth for a moment.

Jon dropped his pen. "What's he doing?"

Mark leant against the desk, a grim look descending on his face.

Agent Grant pulled out a ziplock bag containing a phone. He glanced up and down the street before tapping a number into the keypad and lifting it to his ear. He bit his lip as he waited.

"Have we got ears on him?" Elizabeth asked. Her heart pounded, and beneath her palm, Henry's pulse had quickened too. This could be the call, the one that proved Henry's innocence.

"Our agents are too far away," Jon said.

"Well, why the hell didn't someone bug him?" Elizabeth's tone sharpened. Geez. It would have been easier if she ran the whole damn operation herself. Henry squeezed her hands, and the surge of anger softened.

Agent Grant placed the phone back into the bag and hid it beneath the hedge. He pulled a slim notebook from his inside jacket pocket and jotted something down. He tore off the sheet, and stashed both notebook and paper away. Then he was on the move again.

"Keep following him," Elizabeth said, "and get someone to retrieve that phone."

"He probably just called a burner—" Jon began.

"You'd be surprised how many people make stupid mistakes," Elizabeth said— _like believing my husband would cheat on me_ —and she shot him a look. Jon scowled, but said nothing in return.

"We have activity at the Hurst residence," Ephraim said. As Agent Grant continued along the street on one half of the screen, the other half showed a young woman, bundled up in a black coat and thick woollen scarf leaving Teresa's house.

Elizabeth let go of Henry and stepped closer to the screen.

"Do we want to follow?" Ephraim looked to Conrad, but Elizabeth answered instead.

"No," she said. "Keep eyes on Agent Grant and see if we can get eyes on the VP." If the woman was going to attend a drop off, Agent Grant would lead them to her, but someone needed to keep watch on Teresa to see what move she would make next.

Ephraim spoke into the headset. "I want eyes on Hurst." And the cameras shook as the agents began to move through the shadows at the perimeter of the property.

Agent Grant continued to stroll along the street, like any normal person on the way home from work. Only he wasn't any normal person, he was a security agent entrusted to protect Elizabeth's life, but instead he was conspiring to tear it apart. Elizabeth's fist clenched atop the table, her fingernails digging into her palm.

The agent entered the park. The lights above him shone white on the screen. His pace slowed as a woman walked towards him—a woman in a dark coat and thick scarf. The agent walked past the woman, and as he did, their hands brushed—just the briefest of glances, but enough to pass a slip of paper between. Then the agent and the woman walked away in opposite directions, strangers passing in the night.

Elizabeth caught Jon's eye as he glanced at her. "Believe me now?" she said, and he buried his gaze back in the screen, his face pale, all trace of that smug smile long gone. She looked to Ephraim. "Don't intercept; let her give the note to Hurst." They needed to see Teresa with the note in her hand.

Ephraim nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well this is going to be a PR nightmare," Russell said. He rocked back in his chair, one hand tapping the armrest. "The Vice President conspiring against the Secretary of State in a row over endorsement for the presidency."

Elizabeth turned to him, her gaze sharp, anger roiling in her veins. "Given the alternative, I'll take a PR nightmare any day."

Russell's gaze darted to Henry. His drumming against the armrest turned to a patter. "I think we owe you an apology."

"You think?" Elizabeth tried to keep her tone level, but there was a bite to it.

Henry shook his head and held one hand up, as if it didn't matter; though of course trust mattered more than anything else. "You can buy me a drink later," he said, "once this is all over."

And God knew Elizabeth could use a drink too. Back on the screen, the woman passed through security and entered the Hurst residence. The camera switched to grainy image of the office at the back of the house. Moments later, the woman entered the study and handed the slip to Teresa. Teresa looked down at it and her brow furrowed into a frown. Her look said it all: so Elizabeth was still planning to run.

"Sir." Elizabeth looked to Conrad, and he gave the nod. She turned to Ephraim. "Bring her in, and have someone collect up DS Agent Grant and that woman too."

"Yes, ma'am." Ephraim switched his microphone back on. "Secret Service agents are go."

The Secret Service agents stormed the house; the footage from their cameras shook across the screen. "Ma'am," one of them said to Teresa, "you need to come with us."

Teresa scrunched up the slip of paper and clenched it in the palm of her hand. Her face was pure shock. "What's happened?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am. This way, please."

* * *

The door to the Situation Room swung open and the glare from the corridor flooded in. The Secret Service agent ushered Teresa Hurst inside. Conrad and Russell were still sat at the head of the table, and Elizabeth had taken the seat next to Henry. All four of them swivelled to meet the vice president, and as the door shut, they sank back into the dim light.

"Sir," Teresa began, but then her gaze fell on Elizabeth. Her whole face tightened, as if she had just bitten into a slice of lemon.

Elizabeth stood up from her seat. She folded her arms across her chest. "We've been watching your little game, Teresa. I bet that note got you worried." Teresa's hand flinched towards her jacket pocket. If she'd had any sense, or any commitment to this foray into espionage, she would have swallowed the note as soon as she had the chance. "You thought I was going to divorce my husband and run for the presidency despite all your efforts."

"I…" Teresa floundered.

"Well, you picked the wrong person to play with."

Teresa spun to face Conrad.

"Look at me," Elizabeth said, and her voice slashed through the room. "Here's what's going to happen. First, you are going to hand over every last copy of those pictures—digital and print. Second, you are going to make a statement to the press saying that you are resigning from your position effective immediately—" Teresa opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth spoke louder, cutting her down "—I suggest that you cite _personal reasons_. Third, you are going to disappear." Elizabeth shrugged. "I really don't care where, but believe me when I say that if any of those images ever surface or if I hear any allegations against my husband ever again, I will come after you, and I will destroy you."

Fire pulsed through Elizabeth's veins, but it burned as hot as lightning as Teresa's lips twisted into that acidic smile. Teresa folded her hands in front of her, and rocked on her heels. "That's quite the threat, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth shook her head. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. "Do not mess with me." Her voice growled through her. "You brought my family into this, and I won't hesitate take down yours." She narrowed her gaze on Teresa. "Your nephew, Thomas—" Teresa flinched and a flicker of fear lit her eyes before she could smother it "—he's the one who provided you with those images."

"He'd be facing a capital offence charge," Russell said as he pivoted back and forth in his chair.

Teresa's face paled. "What do you mean?"

"I did a little digging," Elizabeth said. She pushed a document across the table towards Teresa. "Turns out your nephew's company has managed to secure a number of lucrative contracts with the Russian government." She gave a soft snort. "I wonder how on earth he managed that."

"There's nothing illegal about that," Teresa said, though her face had flushed, and she pushed the paper away.

"That depends what services he was supplying," Russell said. "Just imagine if it turned out that one of these payments—" he bounced his fingers against sheet "—was for the production of false images in order to tip the balance in favour of a certain candidate in the next US election."

Teresa shook her head, her eyes wide. "But he didn't—"

"Treason, espionage," Russell said. He lingered on each word, as if they were delicacies in his mouth. "The Secretary is making you a very generous offer here, Teresa. I suggest you take it."

Teresa stared hard at Elizabeth, studying her, as if trying to figure out just what lengths she would go to—whether she would follow through with Russell's threat or not.

"Take the risk." Elizabeth dared her. "Call my bluff."

Teresa's expression sharpened. "You wouldn't," she said. "You of all people, with your fixation on _morals_."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Seriously? She wanted to go there? "Then it's a good thing I have an ethics professor here to guide me." She turned to her husband. "Henry?"

Henry shrugged. "You're good, babe." He looked to Teresa, like a cat toying with a mouse. "After all, Nietzsche wrote ' _There are no moral phenomena at all, only a moral interpretation of phenomena_ '."

Elizabeth turned back to Teresa. She echoed Henry's shrug. _If the ethics professor said it was okay…_ "So, what's it gonna be?" she said. "Are you going to take the deal or not?"

Teresa's lips disappeared into a tight pout, teeth gritted, nostrils flared. She looked like a pressure cooker about to explode. With her fists clenched at her side, she opened her mouth. But in that second, Elizabeth picked up the photograph that been lying face down on the table. She looked at it for a moment, and then handed it to Teresa.

Teresa's mouth faltered. Her face softened. Thomas. Ten years old. Ice cream in hand, camera slung around his neck.

"Precious, aren't they?" Elizabeth said.

And at the end of it all, it didn't matter what Elizabeth would do, so much as what Teresa believed she might do. What was truth, when it was all just a game of optics?

Teresa blinked. She swallowed. And then she nodded. She had lost.

"Good choice," Russell said. He called for the Secret Service agent who had been waiting outside the door. The agent stepped inside, and without hesitation, he escorted Teresa away.

No sooner had the door shut than Elizabeth let out a deep breath and sank down onto the arm of Henry's chair, at once both drained from the fall in adrenaline and flooded with the rush of relief. Henry found her hand and intertwined their fingers, and had they not been in the Situation Room, in front of Russell and the president, she would have crawled into his lap and buried herself in his neck. Finally, she could breathe.

"I'm sorry for doubting you, Henry," Conrad said. "You're a good man. You shouldn't have had to go through this."

"I'm just glad it's over," Henry said, and he squeezed Elizabeth's hand. Though of course they still had to explain everything to the kids, and it would take a while for things to go back to how they were before. Elizabeth stiffened a little at the thought, but Henry brushed his thumb over her knuckles, and the tension eased.

"Well," Russell said, and he rested his hands against the desk, "at least it puts Teresa Hurst out of the picture."

Elizabeth sent him a wry smile. "You find the positive in everything, don't you, Russell?"

Russell shrugged. "What can I say? Eliminating competition is good for my soul." His phone buzzed against the desk. He snatched it up and glanced at the screen. "Plus, it's always satisfying when someone gets their just deserts."

Henry's grip on Elizabeth's hand tightened, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Sorry, was that deserts or _desserts_?" A burst of laughter escaped Elizabeth, and Henry's eyes gleamed with a lightness that she hadn't seen in so long. It radiated through her and buoyed her with its warmth.

Russell peered up from his phone. He frowned at them. "What?"

Elizabeth bit down on her lip. "Nothing. Inside joke." And she suppressed a squeal as Henry tickled her ribs.

Conrad stood up from his seat and stretched out his legs. "How about that drink?"

Elizabeth glanced down to Henry. He held her gaze, a soft smile lifting his lips as he said, "Maybe another day. Tonight I just want to spend some time with my wife."

* * *

Elizabeth and Henry ambled through the corridors of the White House. Henry's arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close against his side. At that time of night, it was quiet, peaceful almost, as though all the dramas that passed through those halls every day were nothing more than waking remnants of a dream.

They had almost reached the exit, when the director of the FBI stepped out of an alcove and into their path. Elizabeth buried a groan in Henry's shoulder. "What now?" Then she faced Jon with a taut smile. "What can I do for you, Jon?"

"I…uh…I just wanted to apologise," Jon said. He scratched at the back of his neck, and as he tilted his head forward, the frames of his glasses slipped down his nose. "Some of my comments….they were out of line…"

Elizabeth snorted. _Really, Jon?_ "It's not me that you should be apologising to," she said.

Jon's gaze drifted to Henry. He looked as though he'd rather stand naked in front of Congress than admit that he was wrong. But, after a pause, he held out his hand. "I'm sorry."

Henry took his hand and shook it. "Apology accepted." But rather than letting go, he kept hold and stared Jon down. "Other men might cheat on their wives, but you're forgetting who I'm married to." His grip loosened enough for Jon to escape his grasp, and as Jon shook out his hand, Henry looked at Elizabeth with a smile that made her heart flutter. "I'd have to be crazy to even think about cheating on her."

* * *

Will and the kids were crammed onto the couch in the living room. Elizabeth sat opposite them in one of the armchairs, whilst Henry perched on the third step of the stairs. Everyone looked at her expectantly, waiting in silence for whatever it was she was about to say.

Elizabeth leant forward and clutched her hands atop her knees. "What I'm about to tell you is classified," she said, and the words seemed to resonate through the house. Everyone leant in, breaths stilled as they hung on her every word. "Technically, I shouldn't be telling you any of this at all, but I think it's important because I want you to know that I trust you, and I want you to be able to trust me, and more importantly, trust your father."

She told them about the plot that they had uncovered from the forging of the photos, to the DS agent who admitted placing self-destructing malware on Henry's phone, to the bribery of the barman at the hotel, even about Teresa Hurst.

"So it was all a set up?" Alison said, her brow ridged with a mix of horror and disbelief.

"But why would she go to such extreme lengths?" Jason said. "I mean, that's kinda psycho."

"The plan was to stop me from running for president," Elizabeth said. She gave a small shrug. "And it almost worked."

Silence prickled through the room. The kids looked to one another and to Will, then Stevie turned to Elizabeth. "Wait," she said. She raised her eyebrows, eyes wide. "You're going to run?"

Elizabeth flashed them a smile and nodded. Their faces lit up—surprise, realisation, perhaps even delight. "But if we're going to do this," she said, raising her voice over their clamour, "we have stick together—" she found Henry's eyes, full of love and pride "—we have to trust one another. You hear me? And Will—" but before she could even remind her brother of his pledge— _I'll be the first to apologise_ —he stood up from the couch.

"Henry." Will crossed the short distance to the stairs, hand outstretched. "I'm sorry for not believing you."

"And," Elizabeth prompted.

"…and for all the things I've said." He glanced to Elizabeth. "I just wanted to protect her." And in her mind, the fifteen-year-old Will whispered, _I was trying to defend your honour._

"I know." Henry took his hand and pulled him down into a hug. He clapped Will's back. "And I'm glad that she's got you to look out for her. But maybe next time—"

" _Next time_?" Elizabeth cut in, and she shook her head. "Oh no. We're not doing this again." She waved the kids up from the couch, where they were still sat in an awkward lull—stuck in the place between two truths. "Now go hug your father."

"Babe, don't force them," Henry said. He looked to the kids. "If you need time—" but the kids had already jumped up, and they swamped him in their arms. Henry clung to them, and as tears welled in the corner of his eyes, Elizabeth's eyes pricked with her own. When the girls pulled away, Henry held Jason close and ruffled his hair. He shot Will a look. "See, sometimes it is a zebra."

And though Elizabeth had no idea what they were talking about, her chest swelled at the sight of her family together. Everything was how it should be; their family, together.

* * *

"So the fire pit came in handy after all." Henry's voice cut through the chill, as warm as the flames that burned in front of her. His arms wrapped around Elizabeth's waist and pulled her back against his chest. On the fire, the pictures melted, their edges crisping, until they faded into ashes and their smoke filled the air. Henry placed a kiss to her cheek and then rested his chin against her shoulder. "Thank you for standing by me."

"Thank you for never giving me reason to doubt you before." She turned around in his arms and placed her palms flat against his chest. She stared at the collar of his shirt. "I did think…" but she shook the thought from her head. Those were dark moments, not worth dwelling on.

"That's normal," Henry said. He shrugged. "I'm surprised you believed me at all."

She looked up into his eyes. "Of course I believed you." She slid her hands up to his neck, one resting at the juncture with his shoulder, the other toying with the hair at his nape. "Though you do realise that I'm never leaving you home alone again. For your own safety, of course."

The corners of Henry's eyes crinkled. "I can live with that." His fingers fluttered against the small of her back. "You had me scared for a while, back when we were on the porch…It felt real."

"It's just tradecraft," Elizabeth said. But the hurt lingered; that had been real. "You're my husband, Henry. Forever." She pushed herself up onto tiptoe, his arms tightening around her, and she whispered against his lips, "I love you." And, perhaps more importantly. "I trust you."

 **The End**

* * *

Thank you for reading! If you have a moment, please leave a review. They are very much appreciated. And if you know any MSec fans, please share this story or ' **When the Light Goes Out** ' with them. I write for myself, but it's always nice to know that people out there somewhere enjoy my stories.


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